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

[Rillewen]

Dravedir, Trevadir (20), and Tobedir Thôrmaetha (14)
Lond Col

It wasn't long before the Thôrmaetha trio were returning across the bridge. This time, Dravedir had his favorite two birds, one on his shoulder, and the other on the opposite arm. Despite his age he seemed quite capable of carrying the large birds of prey without much difficulty, and they seemed calm and content, under their hoods, but the peregrin seemed to be curiously listening to the sounds she could hear, while the goshawk was actually a little sleepy. Dravedir followed the same path he had taken earlier, to avoid passing through the arch again, and headed for the hunting grounds once again.

A little ways behind him, Trevadir strode with a hooded red-tailed hawk on his arm, with a firm hold on the jesses to prevent the bird from flying off for any reason. He spoke softly to the hawk as he walked, keeping his grandfather just in view, but was watching the bird to make sure it didn't spook as they got around a lot of people or anything.

Just behind Trev, Tobedir was grinning as he kept up with his brother. He had a small kestrel cuddled close to his chest, with one hand covering her body as if to shield her from being frightened by all the people around. But he couldn't help making sure that his hand didn't hide her from view entirely, being a little eager to show off the little bird that he had been entrusted with.

---

Dulinneth Talven (12)
Lond Col

Dulinneth couldn't help giving a little eyeroll, along with a nod of agreement about the brother thing. "Yes, Toggornir really thinks he's something," She huffed, and stopped herself from adding 'now that he's the only son around.' She bit her lip, deciding it might be best to drop that subject, as it would be too tempting to divulge bits of the secret which she wasn't meant to tell anyone. It was hard. She fell in step alongside her friend, and smiled at the suggestion of a scarf. "Ohh, good idea!" She declared with a smile, then laughed. "Wind from the sea, yes." She giggled, referring to the name's meaning. "If we've got the time, perhaps we might go for a walk along the beach and gather some of these seashells for him." She grinned, then paused. "Though, perhaps not too many. We don't want to weigh him and Rhovan down." And that sparked another exciting idea, "Oh! We could attach seashells on the saddle and harness!"

As the two joined Gaer's family at the archway, it seemed they were just in time for Gaer to get volunteered to organize a scavenger hunt or something. While it was difficult to tell much in her expression, Dulinneth could sort of guess the disappointment, but nudged her friend's side. "That could be fun," She whispered, thinking of how they might implement other fun activities to include younger children. Being somewhere between the young Lord Azrubel's, and Lady Gaerlothriel's ages, Dulinneth felt sort of caught between 'wanting to participate in such games' and 'being old enough to help organize them'. Still, she had some imaginative ideas that she felt might be of some aid to Gaer, if that was indeed who was going to be arranging this thing.

Soon, the words passing between the grown-ups grew boring with small talk, and Dulinneth wished that she and Gaer could get away someplace else to talk a little more. Still, she knew Gaer couldn't shirk her duty, and Dulinneth couldn't very well abandon her. Not to mention she would get in trouble with her own parents if they heard she went roaming off on her own, unchaperoned. Although technically, Togg might get into more trouble, and for that, it was tempting to go ahead and run off to play, until she recalled that he had 'officially' left her in Gaer's care, so that might mean Gaer would get in trouble.

Suddenly the girl let out a muffled little squeal of excitement, shortly after Gaer had requested that her brother allow them to tag along with him. Linn caught at Gaer's elbow and tugged it eagerly. "Gaer, looook," She barely managed to refrain from pointing(Mother said that was rude, after all) but urgently directed her friend's attention toward something she just HAD to see! That old man, and the two younger ones with him from earlier, were now returning... with beautiful birds perched on their shoulders and arms! "Aren't they just adorable?" She gushed, meaning the birds of course... she hardly even looked at the humans holding them. "I wonder if they'd let us hold them?" She asked excitedly, barely restraining herself to keep from rushing over right then to ask. "Do you suppose we might go and ask them?" She asked with a hopeful glance at her friend, feeling sure that she would surely want to do the same!

[Arnyn]

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

Silivren made eye contact with Ziran during her reply, and showed her approval of the woman's words with a soft smile. "I am pleased to hear that," she allowed. "Not that I doubted you prioritizing the joust." Jousting was prestigious, and one of those strange things the nobility continued to enjoy and exalt, but it was also dangerous. In Ziran's position, there would only be one acceptable reason not to attend the joust, and even then it would not be accepted by all. But given the woman's background as a ranger and a soldier, this reason could not apply for Ziran. It would be entirely unbelievable if she were too claim being too tender of heart to watch anyone getting hurt. SIlivren was not concerned with Ziran's composure watching the joust - at least not when it came to her son partaking. She also believed Ziran would react appropriately regardless of whether Macardil lost or won. Her concern lay with other possibilities. What if Macardil's opponent chose to loudly antagonize him in front of the crowd, for example? Throwing his misdeeds back at him? Or what if they sneered at him, distracted him somehow and then injured him through such a play?

Not willing to entertain that possibility for too long herself, Silivren's gaze returned to the waves of the sea as she sipped her glass again. "I do enjoy watching him," she admitted. Macardil's usual confidence translated well into his suit of armour, and he made her proud. "Although the enjoyment is always laced with a mother's concern."

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Returning to the pavilions

"Please." His deep voice came from behind the last shielded part of the pavilion, as Macardil was still rounding the last corner of the structure. When he came into view, his expression was calm as he looked upon the sight of both his mother and his betrothed sitting together thus. Who would have thought he would ever see such a sight, in the damp, cold, dark nights he had spent at the White City's dungeons?

His blue eyes found his mothers' as he gently rested a hand on Ziran's shoulder while he drew up beside her. "I would ask you not to transfer your own worries to my betrothed." He looked at Ziran. "I have never left a joust with grave injuries before. I do not mean for that to change."

Removing his hand from her shoulder, he poured himself a glass of water before Marion could approach to do it for him. He downed one glass in its entirety, topped up Ziran's and then refilled his own, before he turned his face to the sea. A smile touched his features briefly. He looked back at Ziran, and gave her a small bow as he held out his arm. "Care to join me for an even closer view of the waves from the cliffs?" he asked quietly. His eyes flicked to his mother. "We will stay within sight," he assured her. Then they returned to make eye contact with Ziran, as he awaited her reply.

[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 @Rillewen

The inevitable flaw in coaching someone how to conduct a conversation, was of course the impossibility of knowing what the other participant might say to them next. The welcome and thanks portion of the exchange having being completed, Eressild could only hold her breath and trust in her young nephew’s ability to improvise accordingly. They had tried and tested him on likely possibilities. But their hosts were a relatively unpredictable factor. The Azrubel matriach was on hand, naturally, and would not shy from contributing where required. But it was important to ensure she did not do so in a way that belittled their little lord. Not on his first proper public appearance in society.
Emeredir had of course brightened considerably at the Lady Orelnith’s suggestion. And his aunt had offered a gracious nod with a rather more grateful smile to the other lady for catering so for the youth.

“That does sound like good sport,” the lord approved immensely, with the sort of youthful exuberance which was impossible to subdue. “I was told that I may look into any archery contests as well. You are holding archery contests aren’t you, my Lord ? My brother has been coaching me.” A proud glance toward Warder happened far too swiftly for the elder brother to warn the little lord against doing so openly.


“You would of course find us moved and cheered that neither such undertaking shall endanger our Lord before he has been granted the years to meet .. grown competition,” Eressild conceded, with poise and timing. Practiced in detracting attention away from .. subjects which might be less well received in company. Zâinabên’s generous invitation to her nephew, some mere moments though, threatened to unsettle even she. The smile which widened was disarming. On the seat where only Elen might observe, the lady’s nails pulled suddenly and sharply at her cushioned seat.

“Sir Abrazimir is a most artful and well versed athlete whom all ought witness in action,” Isys put in as though she had just now awoken to where they were, speaking to Emeredir first, apparently in random. “I should be hard pressed to deny the opportunity of meeting him at the tilt, for so rarely have we known the chance of late.” If there was a challenge directed within the word, it was directed toward Lord Zâinabên, at whom she blinked twice in a swift succession as she concluded her small offering. The compliment toward her peer was offered to Abrazimir with a belatedly tucked chin of all owed respect.

“I have never been on this side of the river before. But so far it has all been very promising,” Emeredir put in, after Eressild took full advantage of the abrupt interjection, and prompted the young man to not lose his host’s attention, to a woman .. He glanced after this brief attempt, toward his aunt to check if he had done right, and she took that as the young man’s permission to speak as he would, if he could. Which she deemed of course, that he could not yet. So she would. Must. Did.


“Your persevering magnanimity does us a great honour, my Lord,” Eressild had recovered by now enough to face their host, and well aware that even all about her own party were poised on each word to know how she would receive Zâinabên’s offer. “I am sure Emeredir would welcome any instructive demonstration that such a winning competitor might prove advantageous.”

The emphasis placed upon the word ‘winning’ was not heavyhanded, and yet intimated just enough that noone should overlook the lady’s implied meaning. Eressild played her hand, even as those else of her train despaired, each in their own understanding that the Lord’s actual mother was not even present. Did Eressild believe she had the right, or even the gall to agree to such an arrangement, without first conferring with Sirdis ? Naturally, the matriarch herself was resolved, that she had guaranteed them enough wriggle room, determining their consensus to the invite upon Abrazimir’s much-attested-to prowess in performance, .. and if Sirdis did happen to disapprove of the gamble, then her friend and cohort ought to have possessed the manners to attend such calls in person. This might be at worst a lesson to better educate the other Lady Azrubel into better managing her own affairs – as in her significant son – and representing their House entire .. and at best, well, a means of raising the stakes and due entertainment of this affair’s grandest event.




***

It would have been amateurish to not secure some sanctuary upon this side of the river, albeit if only to retreat to when necessary out of the sun and crowds. Eressild would not personally be spending the night outside of stone walls, but she was not opposed to the servants doing so, in order to have their pampered quarters ready and renewed again for the nobles’ return on the morrow. In this regard, she had sent Lotte and Ruberon on ahead, to establish their little ‘day camp’ so that it might all be ready by the time they ever arrived there. She warmly welcomed Lady Orelnith unto their carriage in fact, in order to have their hostess more comfortably direct their ‘tour’ and find the pavillion’s location about the Dimaethor lands; because naturally her servants must have worked in alignment with their hosts’ servants to manage this feat at all. Forced to retake his seat, little Emeredir did so, avoiding Elen’s steely eye as his aunt prepared to relax a little and enjoy the less combatant conversation of her lady neighbour, in Lord Zâinabên’s absence.


Isys meanwhile nodded her accord to Abrazimir’s request, and Warder seamlessly, silently, followed his lady’s example in finding their feet to ground. It was only right after all, to meet the Knight on a par, rather than from their previously elevated ride. The horses they could walk with them. There were few regrets to see the gilded carriage and it’s remaining entourage abandon them, even with some of the soldiers in the rear taking up a glad song under the bright sun as they did, to further entertain their employers and their honoured hostess. Their booted progression down that avenue would be more leisurely, and apparently enlivened by the company of two younger women.

“You owe no apology that I ought not return regardless,” the Ehtyar assured her kinsman, falling in with he and Pele. Her mother had been .. well, at the least, the two families were no longer surprised by these little strivings between them for prominence. When the enemy threatened their mutual interests, the two Houses came together without question, as though they did not hone their sharper instincts upon one another at all other times, to maintain their edge.


Isys glanced at the ground rather than Abrazimir as he began to find the words to voice his wondering, and did not raise her gaze when even his younger sister stepped in with her own application. Warder, falling a little behind the other three, did not ready to venture his opinion unless it might be specifically asked for. He might be else concerned with leading his horse so that it leant an effective veil for some secret matter that the two younger ladies ought not to overhear. As the Swan Knight ran a hand across his face, Isys did not believe their unexpected company was what so troubled their friend. She flew grey eyes toward Pele to deduce if the Captain were better aware of what this exchange might entail, but answered “I do believe we must,” to serve as her response to the Man’s evident concern.

[Pele Alarion]

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

"Thank you for your kind hospitality," Pele bowed once again slightly to show her respect for the hosts, and then turned her attention fully to Abrazimir. "Ah, quite a few then," she kept in mind the listing of the arrived people known to her. She would perhaps not feel lonely, though it would also do good if she could make new friends here, if they were not all too haughty.

"Nay, not jousting," she laughed when he offered the options of where she could participate. "I'd be thrown out of saddle before I ever knew what hit me! Not sure I want that humiliation in front of all these fancy folk." A merry spark danced in Pele's eyes, as she pretty much saw the scene in her imagination. "But some other things, perhaps. Why not."

One of the aides came to take her horse, and she looked him over as if assessing his skills. "You are sure you want to handle this horse?" she asked, and at receiving a convinced nod, relinquished control of the reins. "He's named Temper and is prone to biting people, so watch out..." As if to prove the meaning of Pele's words, her horse tried to pull away from the stranger and then aimed a bite at his fingers. "Temper! Behave!" she scolded her trusty mount, and then advised the aide: "He also has a liking for treats, so perhaps you can earn his favour that way."

Having watched her horse being led away with an amused look in her eyes, Pele turned back to Abrazimir once again. "Sure, don't mind a bit of a walk after being cooped up in the belly of the ship with that silly horse of mine," she chuckled softly, measuring her steps to match those of Abrazimir and Isys. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, she turned towards Warder and offered his helmet back to him. "Here. Thank you! It served a purpose for a bit, but it is too big for me, and I'm sure I'll survive until such time when I can sort myself out..." Her hand reached for her hair absent-mindedly again in search of more decorations which were the proof of where she had spent her time when travelling.

"What is it then, Abrazimir, that has you looking somewhat confused?" she queried, choosing not to pay too much attention to the younger folks insisting on joining them.

[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 watched Silivren as she responded with affirmation of Ziran’s attested choice, not quite able to read what she was thinking. It seemed as if she was being weighed somehow before Silivren turned away to look at the sea once more. The nuts she had taken earlier were tasty and quickly disappearing, giving her something to occupy her during the brief calm pause. She raised an eyebrow at the continued sentiment as Silivren spoke again. Concern she could understand. She had no desire to see him wounded, but had to have confidence he would not be. It was different fighting beside someone than watching them fight, and Ziran feared that not being able to respond as she preferred would be the most difficult portion of the joust for her.


She didn’t have more than a heartbeat or two to dwell on Silivren’s words when she heard his voice from behind the partition, and the sound of it relaxed a tension that she didn’t realize she was holding. She turned her head to look up at him as he approached, and warmth lit her eyes before lifting her lips in a quiet smile at his hand on her shoulder, even as he addressed his mother. Her dark gaze met his, of brilliant blue, when he turned to address her and alleviate concern. “Good. I am glad.” Her reply was simple, as her eyes said more than her words.


Ziran watched him down his glass of water with mingled amusement and approval, and nodded her thanks when he refilled her glass and then his own. Dusting off her hands, she took another sip as she saw him smile at the sight of the sea. There he is. Each of these facets of his personality were true to who he was, but she enjoyed seeing what made him smile. When he turned to her and extended his invitation, it was all she could do not to either leap up immediately or sit frozen, caught up watching him. Her response was a swift smile and a slightly more measured nod. “I would love to.” She took another quick drink from her glass and then set it on the side table before rising and moving to take his arm. She had always enjoyed walking with him, and would not turn it down now, even if it had only been a relatively short while since their arrival. Besides, it gave her the opportunity for sharing his joy in the sea and spending a few moments in very public alone time with him.

[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

Little did Ziran know that this was Silivren being very open-hearted. Telling Ziran - of her own account - that the sea reminded her of her late husband. Telling her - unprompted - how she worried for her son when he participated in a sport from which he could not escape. Yet Ziran had not visibly responded to either. Encouraging as that may be as a prediction of how her future daughter-in-law would stay sober and poised in front of the nobles... Well. It wasn't as if Silivren had wanted Ziran to delve any deeper into these hints at emotion. However, the response was somewhat lacking in empathy. Given there had been no response at all. It would not be an issue with the men. But empathy - a restrained kind of it, at least - had been drilled into the female nobility from as young an age as was possible. This was a possible area where Ziran might be found as... different.

Macardil, having no idea of what had and had not been discussed among Silivren and Ziran, was watching his betrothed. She would love to. He watched her taking a drink from her glass, setting it aside and rising from her seat to take his arm.

Silivren's eyes rested on them a moment as her son put down his own glass, before she turned away from them with a faint smile. "Of course." This was all she said to Macardil's assurance that they would not stray beyond her field of vision. She knew her son was true to his word, and would not risk improriety on such an important occasion, where he would be watched closely. Her gaze drifted off to the two other pavillions, however, and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

The Lord Himhathol guided his betrothed closer to the cliffs overlooking the waves rolling ashore. He did not speak for a good while as they walked. The silence between them, which he had always found companionable and easy before, now felt like a veil that was keeping them apart. He wanted to say many things but found could not think of a way to shape the words so they would sound as he intended them to. And the longer he did not speak, the more difficult it seemed to become.

As he slowed them to a stop, the waves and the water drew his attention and held it for a while. A slow smile spread across his features. "The sight of the sea is one I find rewarding to such a degree," he said quietly, "that it provides an effective counterbalance for any objectionable way I might have been and will be received." When he shifted his gaze to Ziran, he gave her a long, quiet look. "It warms my heart that you would step forward and take action on my behalf, Ziran." His other hand moved to cover her hand, circled around his arm.

The soft smile faded, making way for a strange blend of responsibility, sincerity and sadness in his expression. "Yet I wish to fight my own battles. And here, in Belfalas, even if I did not wish to do so, I must. Can and will you let me do this?"

[Karis Ziranphel]

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

During the initial silence of their walk, Ziran split her focus between the scenery and the quiet figure of her betrothed beside her. He seemed deep in thought, and it was not something she felt she should intrude upon. He would speak when he was ready, and yet there was something about his demeanor that brought a tightening to her chest. The sight and scent of the sea demanded attention as they drew closer, and the crash of the waves drowned out the sounds from the encampment.
After a glance at his face, she too looked out to sea and tried to relax into the mesmerizing scene. The roll and crash was loud, but Ziran immediately caught his voice when he spoke, and she turned her head to watch him. The smile on his face tugged at her heart, although she wasn’t sure how true it could be that this was enough to counter all that people said and did. She had walked the woods and rolling fields of Gondor to try and find the same, but peace could be elusive.
She met his gaze quietly, and it lit a cautious glow in her to hear his words of affirmation, but it felt like there was more to come.


A sharp stab of protest and pain lept up at his next words and the denial of her right to defend him in word or deed, but she shoved it down firmly and took a moment to run over exactly what he had said again rather than respond immediately. It wounded her that he didn’t trust her judgment here. It was something that she was accustomed to from others, but hadn’t expected from him. Then again, she had said she wouldn’t promise anything, and here he was asking her to do just that. To promise silence here in Belfalas. All of Belfalas? What about among the women when he was not present? The world seemed to think all fighting women were volatile, but she had always been very deliberate with actions and words before her relationship with him. To promise silence was very difficult. This place asked him to stand alone, and even for one used to presenting a calm demeanor to the world the request was challenging. She had promised herself to him, and for her that meant not letting him stand or fight alone if she could help it. To have his back in all things. Yet he felt that he must, and asked her to abide by that. Her lips parted as she drew in breath and paused to try and form her words as her thoughts churned in response, and her gaze traced the lines of blended duty…and sorrow in his expression. She let go of the breath that had caught at the sight. How could she not when he had the heavier burden?


“Ah, Macardil…” Her voice wavered with the rasp of emotion as her inner argument settled somewhat, and she reached to lightly rest the tips of her fingers on his shoulder. “I do not like that this land demands such. It makes me furious that you would be seen as weaker for my words and actions, but I love and honor you.” She paused. “Since you ask it of me, aye, I will, but it is a hard thing indeed.”

[Arnyn]

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

He watched the play of emotion on her face and in her eyes. She looked hurt. Thoughtful. Doubtful. He swallowed, waiting for her response.

Her response was unexpected. Despite her clear disapproval, she was offering him understanding. And agreement. His blue eyes watched her after her words had been said. One heartbeat. Five heartbeats. Ten heartbeats.

Macardil still held her eyes with his as he finally took a half step back and moved to hold one of her hands in one of his. He lowered his head in a bow and kissed her hand in silent thanks before lowering it between them. Once he had re-established eye contact, the words came. "I know what I am asking of you is difficult. I would be hard pressed to maintain my own silence, if the roles were reversed," he admitted openly. "Yet I would also grant you the same, if you were to ask it of me. Thank you, Ziran."

He slowly moved his thumb over her fingers. "A mere moment ago, you looked hurt." He was not entirely convinced he understood why. However, he needed to address the possibilities he saw for the emotion. He never wished to wound her. "I should add that I would never ask you to reply to questions with untruths, thus tarnishing your own reputation. Nor would I ask you to ignore the question, for that would not bode well for your own reception."

"If someone were to ask you a direct question, of course you may answer it. All I am asking is that you answer the question itself, and no more. My reasons also go further than the demands of Belfalas, real as though they are." His voice was still quiet, but conviction suffused it now. "Despite my fears of the results, I have a wish to discover who here are my true friends, who look at who I am rather than what is said of me. And so, for the time being... If someone wants a story, or if they keep asking you one question after another, and they wish for answers - they can have these things when they speak to me directly without causing offense. If they do not have the will or capability to do at least that, then they are not the friends that I wish to have. In which case I will have to face the reality that our stays in Belfalas will become much more unpleasant than they have always been in the past."

He considered whether or not to speak his full thoughts. "I hope that there will be those among my former friends who, after the initial shock of seeing me here, will try to find the truth." He sighed almost imperceptibly. "That there will be those who believe in me, because they know me. I wish for them to believe that, since I am here, I am here legitimately. Not because of some lie, some break-out, some trick. But because I deserve to be here. Not because someone else has spelled it all out for them and has convinced them."

It was admittedly uncomfortable to bare his thoughts and feelings to this degree. His mother had understood without him needing to explain like this - then again, she had known him all his life. And this was an extremely rare situation. It was normal that Ziran needed more. He only hoped she understood.

[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

Macardil’s gesture was sweet, and the corner of her mouth tilted in a slight smile, although Ziran’s expression remained serious as she returned his gaze. “Mmm” she replied when he mentioned that she had looked hurt, but merely listened in silence as he continued. His words resonated with her, and she could understand his reasoning for wanting to see if people truly were his friends. It also helped to hear that he wasn’t asking absolute silence, but not speaking on his behalf as much as possible.
“I think that is wise, and I understand what you mean, Macardil. I understand why you wouldn’t want someone to be doing your arguing on your behalf, and want to find out the truth of friendships.” She paused and tried to analyze her feelings enough to put them into words.

It was surprisingly difficult to articulate despite the swift simplicity of the initial emotion. Her words were halting and low when Ziran spoke again, feeling her way forward as they came forth. “You asked me why I appeared hurt at your request…I suppose it was first in an instinctive reaction to hearing that you want to battle alone. Which felt like… a mistrust… of my ability to speak and act truly in your best interest, and a rejection of my right to stand beside you and defend you as you would defend me. It was also a reminder that although I consider us to be a unit and bound together in honor, that what harms one harms the other, and that each never has to stand alone to face the world, it is not yet so here. As if you did not need me here. That is what caused my heart to flinch, but I know it is also a leap past your words to possible implications.” Her brow was furrowed but she did not look away as she continued, hoping he understood. “It was a response of emotion, not logic.”

She shook her head slightly with a hint of ruefulness, feeling vulnerable at the leap of her feelings into entertaining such thoughts. “I know my response of anger earlier may have made it seem like I didn’t trust you to defend yourself, but that is not true. I know logically that this is your homeland and your honor to defend, and I shouldn’t get out ahead of you. My instinct is to keep you from harm, but just as in battle, I know that you are more than capable of defending yourself against all attackers, and this is your honor and friendships at stake. It is right to allow you to defend yourself, just as I would wish in battle. I agree with your assessment of how to determine who is a true friend and who is not. My hope for you is that more will return to you of their own volition and prove true than initial signs may suggest. I will not interfere, yet will be here for you.” Her instinct was to comfort and seek comfort, as she had no desire to wound him by her words of explanation, but she held herself back from embracing him. She had promised restraint.

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie

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

”Archery contests are indeed taking place in the coming days, young Lord.” The Lord Zâinabên assured his counterpart. ”Provisions can certainly be made to include you…” he even suggested, before casting a glance towards Lady Eressild, who was already moving to divert such attentions for the young Lordling, due to his youth and inexperience. He’s got to learn sometime, right? It would be safe and supervised here, at least. While Emeredir’s family might be more cautious of his excitement, the Dimaethors failed to see the danger in encouraging it. It had been long since they had a youth of his sort in these lands. Their own children were grown and it seemed some time yet before they would be graced with grandchildren, so treating the youth of their distant kin allowed them to vicariously live out this fantasy of a growing family.

No one on their side noticed the unease in Lady Eressild. Lady Isys spoke praise of her kinsman, Abrazimir, who despite the words, looked upon her in return with a measure of contest and challenge. They had fought on the same side for many years, now with the War and the great danger ended, it seemed they might return to normal affairs of harmless contests and trials. He was a different man since last they met. And she too had grown in strength and wisdom, no doubt. He was eager to test his mettle.

”Perhaps the Valar shall will it that the score be rectified. Or not.” Lord Zâinabên replied to her words. But attention was drawn back to Lord Emeredir who expressed his gratitude and approval of his reception. Lady Orelnith grinned with delight. ”For an esteemed visitor like yourself, anything.” She promised him further.

But to the topic of squiring, Lady Eressild provided a different sort of acceptance. A winning competitor. Was she declaring that the winner of the tournament, be it Abrazimir or otherwise, would get the honor of tutoring the young Lord in the knightly arts? Not exactly an acceptance of her neighbour’s offer. If it wasn’t an outright acceptance, what else could it be but a rejection? And therefore…an insult?

Yet rather than be moved to anger or wroth, the Lord Zâinabên just snorted with amusement. ”We shall see, my Lady.” He said and gave a little bow to her. ”My offer still stands, out of friendship and the great respect I had for your husband. And his brother.” He said pointedly. ”We wouldn’t want their legacy of tremendous service to Dol Amroth to fade away in the improper hands now.” A tournament to decide the knight in which to tutor the young Lord, a fantastic idea. And again, seemingly without approval or permission of the Lordling’s actual mother…

---

@ercassie @Pele Alarion

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
With friends and old comrades, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The greeting between the two great Houses of Lond Côl concluded, with no small measure of foreboding it seemed. Pele, the Captain, laughed off the offer of participating in the joust, though Abrazimir did not share her jest, thinking she underestimated herself. Still, he would not force her, if that be her wish. Simply partaking in his family’s hospitality, drinking and eating and being merry, would be plenty of honour for him. Her horse, for all his impudence, and aptly named so, would be taken care of. Together, along with Lady Isys and Warder, the four could proceed into the interior of the Dimaethor domains and finally get to enjoying some of the festivities!

Oh, and his little sister and her friend in tow, but they were easy to miss. And indeed they were already missing even after asking permission to tag along…

So, what did he have to talk to them about? It wasn’t easy. But better to endure the dive as soon as possible than worry about the depths he might plunge into. And who knows, the perception of the dive might be overstated and unfounded. Just better to get it over with. ”You three know that for a time, I served in the Rangers, and went with you all on many missions before I returned hither to serve under the Prince as a Swan Knight. During one of those missions, to the Poros, our… former comrade, Macardil Himhathol…well, how can I say this? He put his sword in an officer’s back and was promptly arrested for it. That was the last I’ve seen of him, until today. I was simply not aware he had been released.”

Abrazimir paused in the midst of the street, well away from the stone archway where the meet and greets were occurring, yet still far from the collection of pavilions and tents that nestled by the allotted jousting grounds. He glanced around and they were relatively private and isolated from others. ”I am sure the King’s mercy was fairly given. But absence allows for counter narratives to arise, most of which I am not inclined to believe myself. But my father is a willful man, and he doesn’t know what we know, as I’m sure you have just witnessed. I would like to assure him there is no trouble or danger. So I would like to ask you, my friends, that am I justified in believing that?” He inquired of them, Isys, Pele, and Warder in turn, inviting them to speak as they wished, to correct his ignorance if necessary.

---

@Rillewen

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

Indeed there was little care or curiosity what the elders had to discuss. Her brother, his friends and colleagues, they had all partook in some distant and strange war, the struggles and experiences of which only they knew. And the girls didn’t. Therefore, why would it be of any interest to them? It was all in the past! Azraindil, or Gaerlothriel as she was known in the elven tongue, by those who spoke and esteemed it, had grown up rather closeted and reclused on the family estate. To her, the wonders of the world were simply what she could endure and enjoy in the moment.

And she had Dulinneth to help her out. With her, anything could be fun, even organizing little games for the younger children and visitors. Still a position of authority, right? That could be intriguing. And prove to the elders they were responsible enough to no longer need any rotten, thrice-cursed chaperones. As they followed behind Abrazimir, Pele, Warder, and Isys, she pondered how they might expand their confines without risking any sort of trouble. Like her friend, Azraindil knew that escaping the oversight of a chaperone would result in her bearing the larger share of the blame, given Dulinneth’s age.

Any chance of being responsible and adhering to that, however, went out into the depths of the sea when Dulinneth squealed and drew her attention. And when Azraindil caught sight of them, she just had to squeal too. ”By the grace of Uinen, are those…?” She stammered as well in an excited, hushed whisper, following Dulinneth’s gaze right towards the Thôrmaetha boys, and their grandfather, and their…birds! Pretty birds. Colorful birds! A grey one as somber as a wizard and a yellowish one like a tulip in a meadow and a red one like the autumn sun and a baby one as dark blue as the depths of the sea or the highest airs of the sky! Azraindil’s hands clutched at the doll she had been given, her passions so flared up that she just had to squeeze and hold something.

”They are adorable.” She exclaimed to Dulinneth, grey eyes wide and enthused. The boys walked with such ease, the birds perched on them like they were sturdy tree branches. How? As much as Azraindil tried to talk or sing to the birds, in Westron or Sindarin, they never harkened to her. What secrets did those boys have? What spells or magic? She had to know! She looked at Dulinneth, who voiced the very same thought. ”I do suppose.” She agreed instantly to Dulinneth’s suggestion. What, no thinking of the consequences or trouble of just wandering off? They were on family lands. What’s the worst that could happen? Absolutely nothing. Azraindil grabbed Dulinneth’s elbow and they were already marching about the Thôrmaethas with purpose, their respective brothers left behind and forgotten.

”Do you think they named them? I think they named them.” Azraindil mused excitedly, talking fast, almost stammering over her speech in a very unladylike fashion. ”Look how gentle they are with them!” She pointed out to Linny, tucking her fox doll under an arm. She was basically a grown woman, strutting with a doll under an arm… But she didn’t care. There were too much new thrills and attractions to pursue than to worry about other people’s opinions. They would follow the Thôrmaetha all the way to the festivity grounds, where they had been given a tent near the tree line where official hunting was taking place. And the girls would follow right to the very edge of the family domains, where civilization ended and the wilderness of Gondor’s interior began, at least in this region of Belfalas.

But first they had to make sure their query wasn’t too busy. They would come to stand several paces from the Thôrmaetha booth. Azraindil guessed they would still be setting up, arranging crates and cages and a stall and other necessities for feed and lodging. She chided herself mentally for not digging into her father’s notes or counsels about this sort of thing. When did her father become mirthful enough to include such entertainment for the guests? The Thôrmaetha grandfather, she judged, would be the least likely to give them an early showing of the birds though. If only…

Now her mind failed her. They had come this far and Azraindil couldn’t think up a way to just walk in there and look. She certainly wasn’t strong willed enough, yet, to demand it, in line with her noble blood. ”Maybe the grandfather will leave and the boys will let us look and maybe…touch and pet the birds?” She mused openly to her companion. The only question was...how? Without making it awkward.

[Ercassie]

Lady Ilisys Azrubêl and Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron
At the Dimaethor Event in Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil. Late Summer, 4th Age.
@lantaelen @Pele Alarion @Rillewen

Warder received back his headgear from Pele, as graciously as if she had just handed him the mighty Dragon Helm of Dor-lómin. As glad to have managed to prove useful as he was to see, but not blatantly observe, the Captain now seeking to remove any remaining errant straw in her hair. For her own sake of course. People here did require so little cause to disapprove of another and after all that she had been through, she did not deserve that. The man bowed subtly and tucked the casque into the crook of his elbow, focusing on keeping his pace steady aside the steed.

Ilisys meanwhile released her breath when Abrazimir revealed the identity of his surprise guest. To say she was relieved to hear that Macardil had shown up, rather than rather worse possible contenders, might have been an understatement, but she was undoubtedly surprised all the same. Glancing from her commander to her neighbour, Isys seemed to be anticipating the conversation now taking place without a need for her to play a part in it, as did Warder as well, although he had far greater cause.

Having neither partaken in the mission to Poros, nor ever met Lord Macardil in person before, the squire soon removed his scrutiny from the conversation and returned to posing as backdrop, his helm returned quite effectively to cowl his head, where he might observe in quiet concern that they seemed to have misplaced the two young ladies who Abrazimir was responsible for. This matter clearly had unsettled the nobleman then to have so distracted him. The not so noble man had heard of House Himhathol of course, but it was certainly not his place to comment upon the deeds and doings of noblefolk, even if he were aware of it, within fair company. Much less to declare any opinion about the King’s Judgement. His employer knew him as well as she knew the palm of her hand, and calmly handed Warder the reins of her horse, to accompany his own.


“Lord Zâinabên seemed to be uncertain whether I would be competing in the joust,” she remarked, apparently randomly, although grey eyes flicked without urgency toward her squire, at her concluding. “I would have you check that we are signed up, and if it proves to have not been so done, properly .. see that duly rectified,” she suggested quietly. It might take one who was familiar with the pair, as both their present company were of course, to recognise the kindness that the lady was demonstrating, in dismissing the man from a situation which would make him unnecessarily uncomfortable. Whether she had any doubt in her man’s affording his duties or, perhaps more likely, their senior host ‘accidentally’ remitting her name from the lists, Isys might as easily have been showcasing the faith she could place in Warder to handle the situation with all of the delicacy it required. And he was, regardless, grateful for the clandestine deliverance.

“My Lady, it will be aptly attended to,” he vowed, before awarding a polite bow to each of his betters in turn. “I do hope you enjoy your recreation, Captain,” he offered the Ranger, and “My Lord, sir” he took his leave respectfully of the Knight as well. There had been a time where to add the extra appellation would have ground at Warder’s heart, so jealous had he spent some countless years, in envying the nobleman his lot. But no more. These days, Warder was far more than contented with his own happy position and more so, his beloved family, still able for all that to serve the House and respective estate he would proudly give his life for.


It was decent enough here for the Lady Isys to remain with both a kinsman and a fellow lady of equal maturity, without any shame. And so, leading the two horses away, Warder allowed the finer folks to their far more important (than him) conversation. In his departure, he did happen to notice the direction that the two younger ladies had taken themselves, but it would be unseemly to follow them. And so he compromised with deciding to come and give due greetings to an old associate, Trevedir, once he had attended to the lists and the horses … And if there had come to pass anything untoward by that point, he might find himself in a position advantageous to assist, or defuse accordingly. He was neither expecting it, nor anticipating this possible turn of events, but having been well accustomed to Trevedir’s father .. in years past, he could not discount the likelihood. Honestly, if he had possessed the right to advise the young ladies to divert their attentions elsewhere, it might have been better for the purposes of avoiding calamities in the making. But alas it was not his place. And for now, at least, that place was required elsewhere.


“Lieutenant Dealedwen gifted me an account of the King’s tackling the matter of our Former Lieutenant,” Isys shared with her kinsman at some length, raising her eyes to meet those of Abrazimir before glancing toward Pele as before. “Rather lately,” she added thoughtfully. It had occurred since the last time she had most recently seen Abrazimir in fact. And nearly an entire year after the actual death of Commander Amathen, let alone who knew how many months exactly since his killer had actually been exonerated.

“She said that you were actually present at the time it happened,” the noblewoman added, tilting her head to consider the guest, rather than their host. It was not exactly a question asked, certainly not demanded, but the silence that followed the sentence might have implied some expectation that the actual witness would prove the best to explain what properly had happened. Though the lady had herself been privy to an update which ought to have satisfied her curiosity over the matter, Isys had also been embroiled in a somewhat convoluted meeting of minds, at the time. Moreover that it might prove a nice change for Pele to be able to deliver some good news, after such a tirade of fell news that she’d been forced to impart to people, including friends, over the preceding months. “I do not believe I might do the subject what rightful justice it deserves,” Isys apologised, or came as close to it as she would. Freed of the distraction of her horse, and the support of her most faithful .. well, support; the lady toyed with the end of her long hair as though she were finished. Though clearly the discussion was not.

[Rillewen]

Dravedir, Trevadir (20), and Tobedir Thôrmaetha (14)
Lond Col

The trip back to the hunting grounds took a little longer, due to having to take a little extra care, for the birds' sakes.There were a lot of people and he was unsure how this would affect his birds. Dravedir looked back once in a while to make sure that both grandsons were managing alright, and that they were keeping up. Tobedir was still young and only came to visit once a year for a couple of weeks at a time. He was far from a skilled falconer, though still far more knowledgeable than the average person on the matter. And as for Trevadir, it had been many years since he had handled any birds, that Dravedir knew of. Although, he suspected he might have had some dealings with at least one. Trev hadn't spoken much about his time away from home, but the details they did not speak about included the fact that Trevadir had spent that time with Devedir. And Dravedir knew his son had learned quite a bit from him in the skills of falconry. It was reported that he kept a great white bird nowadays; if Dravedir had to guess, he would say it was a gyrfalcon, but he had not seen either personally to verify such a thing. Trevadir was reluctant to speak of anything to do with his father, and the matter had not come up.

The archway was not yet out of sight when Trevadir paused and took a glance around. He had the strangest feeling of being pursued, but how could that be? He took a deep breath, told himself it was nothing, and kept going once Tobedir caught up to him, trying to make it look like he had been merely pausing to let his brother catch up. For a while the brothers chatted quietly among themselves while they walked. As they were passing the tents and booths set up for various tradesmen and sales people, Trev paused again and looked back, unable to shake the uneasy feeling.

"What is it?" Toby asked, glancing curiously at his brother, then took a glance back behind them but saw only a bunch of people milling about. Strangers, though he couldn't help scanning the crowd in the hopes of seeing his best friend. He knew Iuldir was supposed to be coming to this, but he wasn't sure he was here yet.

"Nothing.." Trev shook his head, deciding it was in his head, that he was not being followed. And, he reminded himself, Dev or any of his crew would have to be insanely bold to show up around here, and so he tried to comfort himself with that thought as they continued on toward the hunting grounds.

Returning to the tent where they had left the two servants, Dravedir turned to Trevadir. "Can you manage Lothuial for a moment, as well as Ruinya?" He asked his elder grandson.

"They get along, right?" Trev asked with a light joking manner, before nodding. "Yeah, I should be fine." He held still while Dravedir transferred the peregrin to his left shoulder.

"She's generally calm and docile, so you shouldn't have any trouble with her." Dravedir assured him with a smile. "She has no quarrel with Ruinya."

"I can hold Naruvir if you like, Grandfather." Toby offered, eager to help as well.

Dravedir shook his head. "Naruvir is sleepy, I'm going to put him away for now. Besides, you'd be best to keep your kestrel away from the bigger birds. They don't tend to play nicely together," He smiled. "I'll just be a moment."

"Aw. Alright." Tobedir tried not to sound too disappointed, watching his grandfather disappear into the tent with the goshawk, to check that the arrangements had been taken care of for the birds' cages, leaving both Tobedir and Trevadir to themselves for a few minutes.

Trev reached his left hand up and gently stroked Lothuial's chest feathers as she got settled on Trev's shoulder. Ruinya, perched on his right arm, was hooded but she smelled the presence of the peregrin and turned his head curiously toward her. "Toby," Trev commented softly under his breath. "We have company.. do you know them?" He asked, having noticed some curious onlookers out of the corner of his eye. So maybe it wasn't all in his head, he thought with slight relief. Hadn't he seen those two ladies near the archway, earlier? He realized they must have followed.

Glancing around, Toby spotted the two young ladies who had stopped a little ways off. He smiled and waved in a friendly manner before turning back to his brother. "No, I don't think I've ever seen them before." He replied, also quietly.

---

Dulinneth Talven (12)
Lond Col

A grin overcame her expression as Gaer agreed that they should absolutely go and at least ask if they might hold the birds. It was nice to have a chance to spend time with her friend who had similar interests! She put aside all other thoughts and concerns as she linked arms with Gaer, happily setting off after those bird-carrying young men. She had a little flock of pigeons she fed from her window, and once or twice she had rescued some baby birds that had fallen from their nests, but she'd never known of any birds like that... to be totally fine with being carried around by humans! She was amazed, and wanted very much to know their secret.

"Oh, I'm sure they must have!" She agreed with Gaer, trying to imagine what names the birds might have been given. Just as horses were given names, surely the birds must, also. She tried not to lose sight of the birdboys, (as she temporarily called them in her head, having no other name to give them) strode along the path toward the hunting grounds. While Dulinneth was tall enough not to have too much difficulty seeing over all the people, there were many of them and so she did lose sight of the birdboys now and then, as long as the girls were on the main path where so many folks were traveling on their way toward the food. And Dulinneth didn't want to go too close to there, in case she might accidentally run into Toggornir.

But soon enough, the crowd thinned once the girls went beyond the food area, and past the jousting arenas, and other such things. Beyond all, to the hunting grounds, at the very edge of everything. At last, they stood gazing upon the tent ahead, where the older man had gone, but the two younger men had lingered just outside the pavilion. She hesitated, unsure whether they ought to have followed this far, but then she saw the younger boy wave at her and Gaer.

"They seem friendly!" She remarked in relief to Gaer, and waved back. "Hello!" Dulinneth called out cheerily across the field. "Let's go talk to them?" She tugged at Gaer's elbow, dragging her along as she went to greet the birdboys. Although probably not much dragging was needed, since Gaer was just as eager. Being encouraged by the friendly smile of the younger boy, Dulinneth barely refrained from skipping or running as she closed the distance between them. "Are those your birds?" She wondered, her eyes shining with excitement.



Toby returned a grin to the girl's eagerness. "Sort of! They belong to our grandfather. Except this one," He added, beaming with pride as he indicated the kestrel in his hands. "Grandfather said I can take her home with me." He answered, clearly very excited about this.

"Oh! how exciting!" Dulinneth gazed at the bird, fighting not to feel too jealous. "They're beautiful! What's her name?"

"Thanks," Toby glanced down with a smile at the kestrel. "Wellll," He hesitated. "I haven't named her yet. I'm trying to think of just the right name. I'm Tobedir, by the way." He added. "This is my brother, Trevadir." He added, nodding his head sideways toward his older brother.

Trev was focused on keeping an eye on both of the birds on his arms, and gave a small nod of greeting. He couldn't help noticing that both girls wore dresses that were nicer than what most common folk would wear, and assumed they must come from rich, if not noble, families. But he said nothing, merely and offered a small smile.

"Pleased to meet you both," Dulinneth replied with a smile, and suddenly found it thrilling to realize that she was not under the watchful eye of her governess, nor any chaperone, and could simply pretend she was like any other girl. She didn't have to keep up appearances for the sake of her parents, or act all prim and proper like a noble lady ought to, or any of that. "I'm Dulinneth, and my friend is Gaerlothriel." She announced, and added, "How do you get the birds to perch so calmly? And... are those hats they're wearing?" She tilted her head in curiosity at the two larger birds Trevadir was holding, but couldn't quite tell what was on their heads.

"They're hoods," Toby answered. "It's to prevent the bird from getting stressed in situations that might frighten it, like with all these people around. They're not used to sudden movements and changes in light, and it makes them calmer when they can't see things that might frighten them." He explained. "I probably should've hooded the kestrel, but..." He shrugged and smiled a bit sheepishly. "I think she stayed pretty calm, considering."

"Awww, well she's such a sweet little birdie," Linn smiled at the kestrel, who was watching her curiously. "They all are, aren't they Gaer? Oooh, perhaps we could help you think up a good name for her?" She suggested, with sudden excitement to help with this endeavor.

[Pele Alarion]

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

Pele was unsure if she had managed to remove all of the 'decorations' from her hair, and she eventually gave up on the effort deciding that she'd put herself in order once there was some time to get settled and change into something more appropriate. Meanwhile she wondered what Abrazimir was aiming at with his introduction, and focused on him intently, as she stopped and clasped her hands behind her back.

"Ahhhh," was her first response when he finally delved into the heart of the matter and mentioned Macardil. Yes, to her he had always been simply Macardil, as she had not known him before the Poros mission, and was too engaged in other matters afterwards to examine information on him in more detail. She tilted her head slightly in thought: while she had been aware of him coming from Belfalas or thereabouts, it now appeared that he was well known here and him showing up was causing quite some disturbance.

For a while, she observed Isys sending Warder away on some errand or another, and then share of what little she knew. It was clear that Pele would have to fill in on the rest, and she did not shy away from the task.

"Ah, Arnyn told you a bit about it, didn't she?" she said, gave a light shrug, and looked back at Abrazimir. "It is true; the King summoned me as a witness in this case at some point. I certainly trust the King's judgement and think Macardil would pose no danger to anyone here." She figured it was best to address the security issue first.

"I had not known him before that mission, and during that short time got to know him as a just, devoted and noble-hearted man, and humble enough to serve his Rangers," Pele stated, and a smile appeared on her face when she thought back at him serving the breakfast at the fortress. "So that attack on the commander came as a lightning out of the blue. Well... at the time when the King examined the whole matter, it became clear that the enemy had somehow managed to take a hold over his will and bend it to his purposes against Macardil's wishes. And... I do not know how, but it seemed that the King dealt with what remained of that power as he took him aside. You know... the hands of the King are the hands of the healer as they say. And as far as I could see, Macardil was back to his own usual self afterwards, and there has not been any trouble since then. Does that settle you concern, Abrazimir?"

She had spoken of what she knew in short words, and was willing to expand on it if necessary and if she knew how. Yet, she now wanted answers to her own questions, so she asked: "But say - does or did he have some sort of a status here that folk would be so obsessed over what had happened to him to come up with all sorts of versions? I am not very aware of his background."

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie @Pele Alarion

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
With friends and old comrades, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

”You know, he was just challenging you when he said that. I’m fairly confident you’re signed up already.” Abrazimir said to Ilisys, after she sent Warder to go check on that. But the Swan Knight was not aware of the true purpose of allowing Warder to remove himself from the awkward conversation they were about to have about a comrade and fellow veteran. Abrazimir didn’t want to have it either, but here in his home he had a position of responsibility that didn’t allow for such shirking of duties and obligations. This was a leap he would just have to endure. And if the waters at the end be icy cold or warm, that would be his burden to bear.

With a nod to Warder, Abrazimir folded his hands behind his back in an attentive pose and waited for the two women to answer what they might. A kinswoman and a superior officer, no there was no worry or risk of a scandal here. They were warriors and knights of the Realm of Gondor and their interaction was about such business. He listened aptly first to what Isys had to say, her own knowledge being second hand from Lieutenant Dealedwen. Pele it was that seemed to know the most, actually being there for the resolution of the matter. He gave a short wave in dismissal of Isys’s apology, finding no fault in her answer. How could he judge her little knowledge when he had none at all?

Pele knew the heart of the matter and explained it, how she was summoned by King Elessar as a witness and it had been decided that Macardil was certainly safe. Who was to say otherwise when the King Himself decreed it so? Between that judgement, and the opinion of his friends here, Abrazimir was sated in terms of the issue of security and danger. Don’t have to worry about another possible incident of kinslaying taking place on this soil, as if Dimaethor didn’t have enough of that stain on their dynasty since the days of Castamir the Usurper.

It seemed that, another will or entity had taken control of the man, and coerced him to slay their superior officer in cold blood. And had been healed of it, by the King. ”The hands of the King are indeed the hands of a healer.” He nodded in agreement with the old adage. ”Being in such close proximity to…that land, I can see how such a thing could come about. I understand fully now, thank you both. My concerns are laid to rest and I will make sure the appropriate people understand this as well.” Such as his father. But unlike Abrazimir and the others, his father had not seen the return of the King as he had. Like many things far off, it might come off as fantastical or incredulous to his father.

”As for any other status, it was just this accusation of malicious kinslaying that I know of, and we know now that it was not by any fault of his own, purposefully or willfully. He is our comrade and if there any other rumor against him, I shall be the first to put them down, if they be spoken in my presence.” Abrazimir declared, bringing one arm out from behind his back to scratch the side of his brow, before gesturing that they could continue walking on, towards the festivities where drink and food awaited them, as well as other entertainment.

”I guess I owe Macardil an apology. I did not greet him in a manner befitting his status.” Abrazimir said softly. ”Oh, and there is one other matter that has been on my mind. Nothing as…sensitive as the prior topic.” He then said, reaching into a breast pocket to draw out a small trinket, a signet ring in fact, which nobles often wore as a token of their dynasty or lineage. ”Recognize this seal? I found this in Minas Tirith outside the Rangers barracks. I would like to see it returned to it’s rightful owner. Something like this does not easily get lost, I would reckon.” He said, of course not knowing the history of a certain Ring which did get easily lost, once upon a time. The signet ring lay in his open palm, letting either of the two women, and Warder, pick it and have a closer look, if they wished.

---

@Rillewen

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

They seem friendly! Hello! Let’s go talk to them? Azraindil was still in the midst of devising some overcomplicated way for them to approach without it seeming like they were stalkers or some kind of conspiratorialists. But Dulinneth had a much simpler way of approaching it by being rather direct, which caused a soft hue of red to creep up Azraindil’s neck, as she had never been so forward before. ”Wait-! Well, I guess too late now.” She just said sheepishly, being dragged along, but having no need to be actually grabbed as soon she was walking just as quickly and determinedly as her friend. They all but ran there, almost tripping over grass and dirt with their reckless haste. But the birds were just so…appealing! And adorable.

Are those your birds? Dulinneth asked directly. ”Linny! Of course they are their birds.” Azraindil giggled at her friend’s question. Well, fair enough, they belonged to the boy’s grandfather and not them directly, but as family, didn’t it all count as ownership all the same? They were answered by the younger of the two boys, who had the young beige, blue, and brown kestrel in his hands, so obedient and polite. Both of them! ”So beautiful!” She agreed with Dulinneth, having to contain herself from wanting to just reach out and touch the bird. Without permission. That could be dangerous. What if the bird bit her, or worse, flew off? People seemed to have a habit of doing that with Azraindil, like her former betrothed, and her current one.

Tobedir and Trevadir, the boys were named, the younger and older respectively. Azraindil was sure she heard the names before, from across the river. ”Well met.” She greeted both boys alongside Dulinneth, even doing a little curtsey, which should reveal her status as a noblewoman. ”The hats are very fashionable, I think.” She nodded alongside Dulinneth’s questions, which were the same that lingered in her mind. ”She is very calm and collected. Like a proper lady!” Azraindil remarked about the kestrel. ”I did hear my brother mention they do the same with horses, giving them little…eye covers,” she mimicked the coverings with her hand, fox doll raised up to the side of her face momentarily, before awkwardly realizing the demonstration wasn’t necessary and dropping her hands quickly back to her sides, ”so they don’t panic and stampede during parades and such.” What was she even talking about? Horses? They were everywhere and easily approachable. Birds on the other hand…

”They are.” Azraindil nodded again with Dulinneth, using again that tone of finality that she used when agreeing to a point that should be without reproach or doubt. When they were on the same page, it felt like a decree from the Valar themselves. ”I already got an idea! I like her little blue feathers here, like the color of the sea depths. But…I mean, only if you want our help in naming her. I’m sure you have plenty of good ideas.” She concluded her statement in a trailing tone, feeling a tinge of shame thinking she might be overwhelming the young boys with their excitement and enthusiasm and attention. And…and…

And why doesn’t the other boy talk? Trevadir. He had two birds on his arm and looked rather burdened. Maybe the girls could help by…holding one of them? ”And what are their names?” Azraindil turned to ask Trevadir directly, stepping towards him a little, gazing between his face and the birds, in case she might do something wrong and they should panic. That was her greatest fear. She, lover of animals, would somehow be responsible for their fright and discomfort! ”They are very pretty. How do they not just fly off? Do you know some…elf magic to keep them close and trusted?” She asked a little jokingly, pretending to scrutinize Trevadir closely, but still curious, as Tobedir hadn’t explained to Dulinneth’s query about how they stay perched.

[Rillewen]

| |
Dulinneth Talven (12), speaking with Trevadir (20), and Tobedir Thôrmaetha (14)
Lond Col

@Lantaelen


Trevadir grinned slightly to himself as he watched Tobedir talking with the girl. But, he couldn't help noticing the curtsy from the older girl, and that in addition to the dresses and the way they spoke, all seemed to confirm his suspicion that these were young ladies of nobility. Still, the 'hats' comment almost had him laughing. Partly because he was amused by the hand actions of the older, lady Gaerlothriel, but also partly because he was remembering the time Ryndir had made a little helmet(along with a whole suit of armor) for Cali's cat. That Gaerlothriel was carrying around a little fox doll made it all the more comical, but he said nothing about it and tried to rein in his amusement.

Meanwhile, Tobedir was either oblivious to their company's social status, or didn't care one bit. "I wouldn't mind the help at all!" Toby grinned and looked down at the kestrel. "What name did you have in mind? I would like to at least consider it."

"Oh, Gaer is wonderful at thinking up names!" Dulinneth smiled. "I have a lot of animal friends that she's assisted me with naming, but I've never known of any birds to let people hold them." She mentioned in slight awe, mingled with a tinge of envy.

"You have animal friends?" Toby asked, a bit surprised as well as curious. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know.. just a lot of woodland animals that I've befriended. Most I um, rescued from traps and things like that," She shrugged, slightly shy to tell about it. Gaer knew all about it, of course, from occasional visits and more frequent letters, but aside from her and Maerdor, Dulinneth hadn't told anyone else about her little rescue friends, not even her mother. Well, she may have mentioned it in letters to a certain 'pen pal' but that didn't quite count, she figured.

"Really?" Toby looked intrigued to hear about this. "What sort of animals?"

"Um, well I've got a fawn that I rescued when her momma was killed by..um, a mean hunter," She left out that the hunter had been her brother, "only..well, she's not really a fawn anymore," She added with a little giggle. "She hangs around the stables and lives in an empty stall toward the back, where no one really ever goes. And there's a little family of raccoons that lives nearby, and a fox I found in a trap that I rescued when he was a cub... only, he seems to have wandered off lately," She added with a small frown, "I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks. But anyway. Then there's a whole big family of bunnies that live out behind the stables, and I have a squirrel who's very friendly, I sort of raised her from a baby after the tree her nest was in got chopped down... she likes to ride around on my shoulder...or my head..." She trailed off, realizing she'd spoken quite a bit about her animal friends. "But not any birds." She added, lightly blushing.

Toby grinned. "My friend, Iuldir, his little sister is always bringing home stray cats and dogs and things, I bet she'd love to hear about this. But, you probably wouldn't want a hawk or falcon around," Toby informed her regretfully. "Cause, you know... they sorta..eat animals like bunnies and squirrels and pigeons." He shrugged apologetically. "But these ones only hunt when we want them to." He added. "And they can do other stuff if we tell them to."

While the younger two were chatting about animals, Trev was a little caught off guard when lady Gaerlothriel spoke to him. Before he could answer her question about the names, she asked whether he had some elf magic which prevented them from flying off. He couldn't help a small grin and a laugh. "No, m'lady," He answered, a little amused. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it's nothing like that." He shrugged his free shoulder. "The birds are well trained, for one." He explained. "But aside from their training, well... the hoods calm them so that they aren't likely to fly off, but even if they did, they couldn't see where they were flying with the hoods on," he pointed out. "But there is a third reason. A backup plan, of sorts." He angled his hand a little so that she could better see the leather strings he was holding, which served as a sort of 'leash' that was attached to the birds' feet. "These are called 'jesses'. Just as even a well trained horse is known to bolt if something spooks it.. well, birds could do the same. So these help to keep them from flying off if they were frightened, so we can prevent any such catastrophe."

"As for their names," He smiled and nodded his head toward the Peregrin perched on his shoulder. "This is Lothuial," He smiled and gently stroked the bird's chest feathers. "She's been with Grandfather the longest, and she's the best trained bird that he has.. that belongs to him." He then nodded toward the hawk on his other arm, "And this is Ruinya, she's a little younger. I'm only holding them for my grandfather while he puts the goshawk away. His name is Naruvir, and you'll probably see him at some point if you return for the show and other things Grandfather has planned." He paused. "That is, the goshawk is called Naruvir." He added, for clarification, and grinned slightly. "My grandfather is Dravedir Thôrmaetha."

"You should come back for the show!" Toby piped up eagerly. "It'll be great. Grandfather's been training them for a long while, they're going to do tricks in the air and everything! Trev and I will be helping."

"Tricks?" Dulinneth's eyes widened. "That ought to be quite a sight!" She grinned. "We will certainly be here to see that! So long as it doesn't interfere with the horseback race or anything, you know. I um, have a particular interest in the horse racing." She smiled with a sideways glance at Gaer. "But, could we possibly convince you to let us have a little.. preview?" She asked hopefully, glancing from one brother to the other with her best 'pleeeeaaaase' look.

"Do you think we could?" Toby looked at his brother, eager to show off the birds' skills.

Trev glanced at Toby, and then back to the girls. "Uh, well..." He hesitated. "I don't actually know what he's taught them to do, nor what signals he's trained them to respond to." He explained. "Sorry. Perhaps you can ask him when he finishes with Naruvir?"

[Arnyn]

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

Her first words brought relief. Relief that it was not necessary to convince her of his wishes. Relief that she understood.

Then it was his turn to open himself to her feelings. A mistrust of her ability to speak and act in his best interest. Yes, that would be painful. "Perhaps it would in fact be more in my interest for you to speak openly and loudly on my behalf," he said quietly, with a tilt to one corner of his mouth. "At present I might be prioritizing the other matter over my overall wellbeing." He realized that she might feel he was also prioritising finding his true friends over her. That silenced him for a while as he pondered the implications.

When she said it had felt as though he did not need her there, he smiled wrily. "I apologize for smiling at such heavy words, Ziran - for I would not make light of them in the least. However, the very idea that I would have no need for your presence..." He shook his head as he held her eyes with his own. "It could not be more of an untruth. Whatever everyone else might think of me here - you have faith in me. Your presence will ground me. It will remind me that it is not hopeless to try and find more people with your disposition. Where there is one, there can be more." His smile grew a bit. Teasing. "Not that I would expect or wish for anyone else to think of me quite in the same way as you do."

Serious once more, after that all to brief flash of something lighter, he continued. "Thank you for believing in my capabilities. And for agreeing to handle the matter my way. In turn, I believe you would be able to take down everyone on this estate should they consciously choose to harm me in some way. Be it with your words or your actions." Macardil changed his hold on her hand, more to have some way to actively touch her than anything else. It was one of the few ways he knew would not draw forth any comments. "Yet this is not my wish. Even if there are those here who cannot bring themselves to believe that it was an act I could not stop or fight against. They have a right to their own opinions. All I require is for them to act civil toward me, if only because I was cleared by King Elessar. Even you yourself once told me that understanding the reason why someone steals, does not excuse the crime. You believe my case is different - but it might not be so for all. I would understand if people thought that the reason why someone kills, does not excuse the crime."

[Ercassie]

Lady Ilisys Azrubêl,
at the Dimaethor event, in Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
@Pele Alarion @Lantaelen

When Abrazimir debunked her alibi, Ilisys turned to him and smiled, before giving up an affirming if confusing therefore “yes,” in response. She could have reassured her kinsman that she knew full well his father would not dare omit her from the lists. She could have tried to better clarify Warder’s struggle to both support his employer unequivocally and equally court the whims of society all at once. The man did not have an easy job. And the lady had been taught not to explain. So in recognising that the Knight was likely speaking in a valiant defence of his father, their host, whom Pele clearly had not met before today … Isys simply clasped her hands, understanding. The entire matter was overshadowed regardless by the subject which had inspired her friend’s awkward flight in the first place.

The unusual case of former Lieutenant Macardil. Throughout the Captain’s succinct account of the accused man and the benevolent King, Isys saw to the separation of many strands of her dark hair amidst nimble fingers, remaining attentive although not intrusive until the tale was told. And to hear the alarming explanation for a second time did not make it any less disturbing. If that had been her hope. But rather than to similarly dwell on what might have apparently been the fate of any one of them who had stood present in that battle, Abrazimir seemed to be satisfied by what he heard and, very soon afterwards, it was Pele’s turn to raise questions again.


“His name is known here,” Isys relayed to the Captain, elaborating on the Knight’s reply yet with no great detail awarded for all that. Her statement might as well have simply referred to the damning rumours that were likely already circulating, rather than the illustrious noble House of Himhathol which had stood an established part of the region for years uncounted. “The man himself, less so,” she mused. Same might be said for many of course.

As the Swan Knight led their small party toward evident revels and treats that stood at hand, a further reveal was broached. A prompt in form of a prop, a small thing though clearly of value. And the question, to which the asker must (or so Isys deemed) surely already know the answer, was presented, perhaps to ascertain only whether the women were as informed as he. For the ring as far as Isys could determine, looked to be some token of a House to whom Abrazimir’s was ‘promised’. A House with whom then, her family and the Dimaethor had long afforded trade links. And yet the ring had been found near the Ranger Barracks .. in Minas Tirith ? Which implied that it’s owner might have been likewise located there for a time. The third piece of a slow amassing puzzle shifted into place. And yet the scene it would inevitably show was not yet fully formed. It was best to say naught for certain in answer then, for she was unsure of what exactly she was being asked.

“It has the look of such a thing, that by now the rightful owner must know it is missing,” she reflected quietly. “But in that it is such a thing indeed, any too who are not the rightful claimant, may claim it regardless if granted opportunity. I would say, that if you are not sure, Abrazimir, to whom it ought to be returned, then give it not up to any but who can tell you what it is that they are missing. For if they can not rightly describe what you have found, then they are not the one who knows what has been lost.”

[Pele Alarion]

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

"The deed was done, but can't really blame him, at the same time," Pele commented quietly. "In that situation, it could have just as well been me if I were close enough to the enemy. I think... Macardil could do with a friendly welcome, yes. Must be tough on him to have everyone avoid him and whisper behind his back." She looked at Abrazimir with a hope but did not feel it was her place to pressure him to act one way or another. The explanations, as they were, both from Abrazi and Isys did not aid her much in understanding Macardil's place among these people except that he was definitely known, so must have had an influence of sorts. She let the matter drop though and did not ask more.

As they began to move again, Pele glanced at the ring Abrazimir provided and shook her head after a moment. "No, I do not recognise it, nor do I know if any of my Rangers have ever had it in their possession," she said with a shake of her head. "It definitely does look expensive and meaningful, and what Isys says completely makes sense. Whoever lost it would surely know to describe it in detail if they want it back."

After a while she spoke again, of a matter that seemed relevant and important to her at the present moment: "I think I would prefer to change into something more acceptable before appearing in a more public setting, say... what events are expected, Abrazimir? Simply refreshments? A ball? No tournaments yet, yes?" She then looked to Isys and questioned more: "What would be acceptable to wear? Would something reasonably simple and comfortable suffice?"

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie @Pele Alarion

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
With friends and old comrades, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

There was little else to be added to the account of Macardil’s acquittal, or an outlook of what reputation may have preceded the man’s actual arrival and presence here. There was already an air of the hurtful sentiment borne out of his accused crimes among a few here, but perhaps that may be rectified through familiarity and time. ”It could have been any of this.” Abrazimir nodded along with Pele’s remarks. There were strange, dark powers afoot when in proximity to that place. As for his own viewpoint, he had seen enough and heard enough to know such loss of control and manipulation were all too real. He should have carried himself with more faithfulness upon greeting the other man. That was on him alone.

For now, another matter, regarding the signet ring that Abrazimir had chanced upon in Minas Tirith. He too thought it might belong to the Taurhebor family, sharing some familiarities in terms of heraldry, but it was missing various other tokens as well, which instilled enough doubt in his mind that it may not belong to them. Besides, the Taurhebor men were all dead or missing, were they not? Their family ring must rest with the father, or the eldest, who died accidentally. Or so it was said. And the younger around that time.

There seemed just enough supposition then that it might belong to another, unrelated family or dynasty.

”I suppose that is one way to go about finding the rightful owner. It may also be that it’s a fool’s errand, the true owner being lost in the battles upon the Pelennor, never to return.” Abrazimir mused, though going forward he would be following Isys’ advice to determine it’s owner. But with these individuals, he could at least share his thoughts and qualms openly. Pele did not recognize it either and did not seem something a Ranger would have, or it’s loss would have been made known. With a thoughtful hum, he concluded the query and closed his palm around the trinket, returning it to an inner breast pocket. There were a few others he could ask openly though before awaiting one who might be able to claim it as per the rules discussed.

Pele next inquired about which events were to take place, and whether her current attire and garb was considered acceptable. The first part, he could answer. ”Another day or two of banqueting, to allow stragglers and far away visitors to drop in. Then there will be the joust, the main competition, for the next three or four days, depending on the length and duration of the tilts. Never know when we might have a slugging match with no clear winner.” Abrazimir grinned with anticipation of such grueling matches, true contests of wits and strength that will be all the talk in the circuits, until the next big event. He gestured that they could continue walking, moving through the townland and towards the small city of pavilion and tents set up around the arena. The smell of good food was already wafting their way.

”Lesser contests such as archery, races, performances, will mostly be an evening affair, after the joust, to occur for the next week or so until the end, to which there will be a ball and public banquet hosted to commemorate the winners and conclude the festivity.” Abrazimir surmised for his friends. The ball would be for the nobles and wealthier sort, the public banquet in the fields and courtyard for all others.

For the second part of the question, that had been voiced to Isys. ”The lodgings prepared for you at my estate has plenty of room for you to store a few borrowed outfits and garments, I might add.” He offered up for that query, though he would leave it to his kinswoman’s expertise. ”My sister could assist you too with that.” He even volunteered. Just as young boys, and girls, might squire themselves to a knight to learn the martial arts, so too could they be attached to ladies to learn some courtly pursuits. Azraindil could have it both, attending on both a warrior and a woman, see that her parent’s worldview on genders was not all universal and binding.

”And yes, I know the two girls who I was supposed to watch over are not with us, but rest assured they are not lost to us, because I know exactly where they are.” Abrazimir added, gesturing with his arms as they arrived to the rows of pavilions and stalls, bustling with visitors and townsfolk enjoying the refreshments and exotic marketplaces. Meats over a fire, ale and mead in bountiful quantities, exotic fruits from all the cardinal directions of the world, alongside clothmakers, tapestry weavers, toy tinkerers, wood carvers, even a puppet show, and many others, under various tent or flap or stall. ”They are in Lond Côl.” Somewhere, at least. ”And so are you, on vacation, so let’s not worry about the opinions of others and enjoy ourselves for a time, before we return to the outside world with all it’s possibility.”

---

@Rillewen

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

A name! The younger boy was giving his assent to let the girls come up with a name for the kestrel. Though the older boy remained quiet and serious. Wouldn’t he have the authority? Perhaps Trevadir didn’t care, or would rebuke the young lad later in private, which she hoped wasn’t the case. There seemed to be something about him, an energy or aura. But Dulinneth was talking now, talking fast and rapidly as the girls did when they were excited and enthused. Azraindil grinned at her friend’s praise and encouragement of her skills, moving to ponder over a suitable name in the old elven tongue.

”Let’s see…with his orange and blue feathers, he reminds me of an ocean sun rise. Or sun set.” She mused for a moment, a sight she had seen many times. ”Glonil or Gloher, I think, mean…Lover of the sunshine.” Azraindil proffered up, keeping her eyes on the kestrel, not just because it was beautiful, but also because she was shy at naming something she deemed so solemn and serious as a bird. A living thing! She hoped the others would approve. She tried to search her memory for better names perhaps.

As Dulinneth and Tobedir chatted, Azraindil stepped to the older boy, who shot down the notion there was any elf magic involved. Yes, it was meant in jest, and she felt colour creeping up her neck when Trevadir laughed a little. That was good! Wasn’t so serious and grave after all. She wanted to know about their training, a topic so mysterious and strange that it may as well be elf magic. She stepped closer as the young man explained a bit about it, showing Azraindil the little strings attached to the talons of the little bird. Jesses. She absorbed the knowledge aptly. Maybe if she demonstrated it later to her parents, they might let her have one eventually.

Then she was introduced to the other birds, speaking each one after Trevadir did. ”Lothuial. Ruinya. Naruvir.” She said in succession. ”I know your grandfather. Well, I know of him by name, that is.” She concluded quietly. And never spoken with tones of affection or warmth. She wondered why.

To the younger boy’s invitation of coming to the show, that was already a foregone conclusion. Azraindil and Dulinneth would be there, in the very front. ”Oh we will. We won’t miss your elf magic, bird training for anything in all of Middle-Earth.” She promised Tobedir. She turned to Dulinneth and rubbed her elbow encouragingly. ”I’m sure there won’t be a schedule overlap. I’ll make sure of it.” She promised her friend, perhaps inadvertently revealing just who she might be. The Lady Dimaethor. Well, one of them any ways. The least important of them. But one of them.

”Yes, do you think we could have a small preview? The littlest of previews?” Azraindul added her own voice to Dulinneth’s plea, trying to put on her best puppy dog eyes and pout. ”You really don’t know any? How about…maybe you could let us hold them? With the jesses and all?”

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

| |
Dulinneth(12), with Trevadir(20), and Tobedir(14)
Lond Col

The ease with which Gaerlothriel came up with two names right off was rather impressive. Tobedir glanced at the kestrel thoughtfully. "Glonil," He repeated, tilting his head down at the bird. "Gloher?" He considered for a moment. "I dunno. What would 'sunrise' be? Or 'sunset'..." He asked curiously, feeling there had to be a perfect name out there somewhere. "I sort of thought about 'speckles', because of the spots, but it seems so plain."

"Perhaps you could call her something to do with the air, since she flies?" Dulinneth suggested, still thinking on the bird name. "Or, like, umm.. speed. Does she fly swiftly?" She was trying to think of elvish names she knew of for swift or speedy or air or wind, without using the one she had claimed for her disguised persona.

Toby shrugged. "I don't know, she is sorta fast. But not as fast as the bigger birds." Toby nodded. "Lothuial can fly faster than a horse can run!" He mentioned, somewhat bragging on the bird's behalf. "But the kestrel isn't quite that fast. What do you think about names, Trev?" He wondered if his brother had any input on the matter.

Trev shrugged slightly. "You might consider what sort of personality she has. Or, you could name her something that has special significance to you. It's all up to you, really." He answered. "It's your bird, call her what you feel comfortable calling her." He turned back to Gaerlothriel in some surprise to hear that she knew of his grandfather. "I didn't realize he was so well-known," He wondered about that, but didn't ask.

Before he had much chance to think about that, the girl changed from asking for a preview of the performance, to whether she could hold the bird. Trev grinned slightly, half-way reminded of Cali and Iole in a way. Iole who had never been allowed to have any pets due to her mother's frail condition. He could just imagine her pleading in just the same way. And Cali would be right there with her, pleading their case, trying to convince whoever they had to convince.

"Hmmm," He debated, a bit torn about that request. On the one hand, what harm could there be? Why not let her? But on the other hand, he knew his grandfather had entrusted him with the birds and he would not be pleased if something happened to them because Trev decided to let this girl hold one. But what could go wrong? She even said she'd hold onto the jesses. But, back on the other hand, they didn't have gloves. He glanced at Gaerlothriel's hands. She didn't have anything on to protect her arms, but then, they had brought extras, right? For that matter, he could let her borrow his glove. "I guess it'd be alright if you hold Ruinya, if you promise to hold really still and don't try to walk with her." He decided at last.

Carefully shifting the hawk from one arm to the other, he added a stipulation to this. "But, you have to put a glove on first, or her talons might scratch your arm up." he declared. "You can borrow mine. We wouldn't want anyone thinking you'd gotten tangled up in a patch of briers, or attacked by a ferocious kitty cat, or anything like that," he grinned, with a slight hint of teasing as he held out his gloved hand toward Gaer so she could pull it off from his hand and put it on her own. The thick leather glove would protect her arm all the way almost to the elbow. He gave no indication of whether the bird's talons were hurting his other arm, which was protected only by the thin fabric of his sleeve. Only once she had the glove on did he begin to carefully nudge Ruinya to step over onto her gloved arm. "She's about three pounds, so be prepared. It doesn't sound like much, but when you're holding your arm out like that... it can get heavy." He warned her with a little smile.

"Ohh!" Dulinneth struggled to hold back a squeal, torn between jealousy and happiness for her friend for getting to hold the bird.

"Would you like to hold my kestrel?" Tobedir offered, while Trev was helping Gaer. Perhaps, only slightly jealous, and finding that he wanted to do something that might impress the girls as well. Particularly the one closer to his age.

"Ooh, yes, could I?" Dulinneth's face lit up with delight, her eyes shining excitedly as she struggled to hold back her excitement.

Pleased to have a chance to show off his bird a little, Toby shifted his hold on her so that he could take his glove off. "Her claws are pretty sharp.. so you'll want to borrow my glove too." He informed her, holding the glove out to her.

Eagerly, Dulinneth took the glove and slid her hand inside, and held still as Toby carefully passed the bird over to her.

"Hold onto these, just in case." He warned her, making sure she had a good hold on the kestrel's jesses before releasing his hold on the bird.

"Awww. Hi, pretty birdy." Dulinneth spoke softly, looking down at the bird with excitement barely suppressed. "She is soooo pretty." She said, deciding she really wanted one of her own, although she suspected she wouldn't be allowed. Although, if they were used for hunting, she wondered if Tog might decide he wanted one. And then maybe... maybe... Dulinneth could beg her parents for her own bird, if he was getting one. Maybe that brother of hers could be useful for a change, after all!

Trev glanced over at Toby and Dulinneth and had to hide a little grin, as he couldn't help noticing how Toby was grinning at the girl, while she was happily smiling at the bird. He shook his head slightly in vague amusement before returning his focus onto Ruinya and Gaer.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

They didn’t like Glonil. Or Gloher. Azraindil frowned as her suggestions were shot down and now renewed anxiety made her doubt her naming abilities at all, after how Dulinneth had sold her skills. ”Speed? Swiftness? Well…” She thought for a moment, searching her mind for some suitable words in the elvish tongue, but the boys proceeded to talk amongst themselves rapidly, changing the topic from swiftness to personality, or something else of special significance, which was more attuned to their experiences than anything she might suggest.

I didn’t realize he was so well-known. ”Well, he serves at the Azrubel’s household, I hear. And my father makes his business to know all the vendors and sellers who do business around here.” She just explained softly to Trevadir. Though, there was some tension in the way her father spoke about their grandfather. Like something happened, concerning their family, and Azraindil’s own, several years back. No one deigned to ever tell her the tale though.

The older brother was certainly more grave and serious. Very responsible. There was something about the way he commanded the pavilion and the trio of them. But he relented, offering Azraindil the tremendous honor to hold Ruinya. ”I promise.” She beamed with delight, a flash of white teeth as she grinned with glee. ”I’ll stay more still than a statue.” She promised him further, all but bouncing in her step as she came to stand right in front of Trevadir, peering up at him expectantly. She was usually never allowed this close to another boy without some sort of supervision. But how dangerous can it be? Trevadir seemed honorable. And very much in control. What could possibly go wrong? She trusted him.

She had no qualms to wearing a glove. She could even rush back and get her own, for her and Dulinneth! But Trevadir offered his own, which was even better. ”No, we certainly can’t. But it’s okay, if they suspect that, I’ll say you helped us.” She assured him, willing to say anything, even lie (innocently), to get to experience this. It was fun. Exhilarating. She rolled up the sleeve on her left arm, offering her bare forearm for Trevadir to do what she wanted to do. She put her doll aside on a nearby crate, trying not to smile too widely as the glove was snugly fit around her limb. It felt warm and hot within, thick like a heavy rain cloak. She practiced moving her fingers around it, taking some effort to do so.

But when, it was time for little Ruinya to mount onto the glove. ”Oh, my.” She gasped ever so slightly, as the little bird perched on her arm. She was so light and fragile! Hardly felt like any effort at all. She struggled with all her mental might not to shift or even tremble. She wanted to look so closely at the bird. Inches away from her face even. She wanted to touch and caress the back of her little head. She squealed so slightly. ”How…how should I hold my arm?” She asked Trevadir, shifting a little, dangerously she deemed, to let him adjust her arm how he saw fit.

Dulinneth and Tobedir were in their own world, both ladies clearly enjoying their presence here. It was a marvelous idea to have done so! Azraindil looked to Trevadir, who seemed such a figure of gravity and esteem to her, just by this bird handling of his. There seemed no greater profession in the world. The way she was star struck might be evident in her eyes. ”She’s so precious. I love her. You get to do this…everyday?” She asked, with emphasis and amazement.

”I hope I’m not doing anything wrong. Can I…you think I can pet her back?” Azraindil inquired next.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir(20), talking with Gaerlothriel
(Toby and Dulinneth still present, talking in the background)
Hunting Grounds area of Lond Col

A slightly raised eyebrow was all the reaction Trevadir gave when Gaerlothriel declared that her father made his business to know all the vendors around here. And she was aware that it was the Azrubel side of Lond Col on which his grandfather worked, and so.. there was only one logical explanation. But he'd thought the Lord Dimaethor's daughter had a different sort of name, and so he was somewhat confused about that. And so he decided not to ask, but brushed the information aside. If she was a Dimaethor, then she was clearly nothing like her father. Thank goodness.

He grinned as he lightly took hold of her arm, making sure the glove was on all the way, and helped her hold it in the right position to be like a perch for Ruinya. "There. This glove is made of thick leather, so her claws shouldn't bother you. It's designed so when the birds take off or land, they won't accidentally shred up your arm in the process." He explained, trying not to appear too amused by her enthusiasm. Not that it was funny, but rather it was pleasant to see how thrilled she was by this simple thing. And it was nice. It made him feel like perhaps he had made her day. And it seemed that the same was true of the younger girl, he noticed with even greater amusement. While he hadn't been back in touch with his brother very long, it seemed quite evident to him that he was very interested in talking with this girl.

"You get to do this…everyday?”

The question brought a little laugh from Trev. "Uh, actually no." he hoped he wasn't dashing her expectations. "Tobedir and I live in Minas Tirith. We're only here these two weeks, visiting Grandfather. And it worked out for us to come at the same time as this event, and when we arrived, Grandfather asked if we would like to assist. So we'll be here, assisting him each day, but back home.." He paused and glanced at Toby, but he was too caught up talking with Dulinneth. "Toby is apprenticed to a carpenter." The carpenter being the father of Trev's best friend, but he didn't mention that, as it was unnecessary. "And I'm.. a musician," Trev decided not to mention that he did not have a steady job just yet. As if to prove he was a musician, he indicated the metal flute that was fastened to his belt by a specially made leather 'holster' of sorts, designed and crafted by Cali especially for him.

Her next question caught him slightly by surprise, and he grinned wider. "Oh, sure, she likes being petted, a bit more than some of the others." he assured her. "Gently, of course, not that you probably need to be told," he added, having noticed that Gaer seemed quite gentle with the bird. He was so focused on watching the bird on Gaer's arm that he didn't see his grandfather step out from the tent, having finally gotten Naruvir settled. He stopped and folded his arms with a small frown, watching the four for a moment.

"She's hooded right now," Trev continued, "so petting her back should be fine. You can also stroke her chest feathers.. they're very soft." He slowly reached out and stroked the soft feathers to demonstrate. "If she wasn't hooded, then reaching around to her back might alarm her a little," He explained, speaking softly. "Their eyes face forward, and they're more intended for seeing things far off, so seeing a hand coming toward their face can make them get a little defensive or nervous since they aren't sure what you intend to do, and they might bite... and trust me, you do not want to get bitten or attacked in any way, by a raptor like this. But with the hood on, she can't see your hand coming, and so it's safe for you." He assured her, smiling slightly. "It also helps her feel reassured if you talk softly to her," he added.

[Pele Alarion]

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

"It might be that the rightful owner is gone, yet someone must have held that ring in their possession," Pele still noted, and then shrugged. After all not only Rangers inhabited the sixth circle, and people might venture up there to visit healers, or do some other business. However, she did not dwell on the matter too much, and let it drop for other more immediate things.

She had mostly just come here without a clear idea of the sequence of events, so Abrazimir's explanations helped her to get some sort of bearings. "Ah, basically... lots of food and entertainment," she chuckled. "I'll have to make sure to participate in something at least, all in the name of good fun and a taste of friendly competition. And a banquet. Excellent!" Pele's gaze began roaming around to take in the surroundings, both to make sure she knew where things were, and simply enjoying the... southerly otherness.

"What? Do you intend to house me in half of a castle, Abrazimir?" she could not help but laugh. While she could make her home in the cottage in Lossarnach, Pele had chosen to make Minas Tirith her main residence, and so was used to the small room at the barracks where she had to fit all of her personal belongings, anything more spacious than that seemed to her a luxury. "I brought more clothes than I usually would, but who knows... might benefit from additional outfits. Would your sister not be bored with me though?" she questioned. "I am no fancy lady, and more likely than not would tend to wander off on some adventures of my own occasionally in addition to the official events."

For a few moments Pele simply breathed in the salty air, then looked at Isys with a certain amount of suspicion - for all she knew the woman might have quite a few 'exquisite' ideas up her sleeve. A small grin played on her lips as she added, "I might be on vacation but I suppose I cannot completely forget that I also have some sort of reputation to uphold. It wouldn't do if Rangers were discredited because of some absolute silliness on my part."

[Ercassie]

Ehtyar Ilisys Azrubêl,
at the Dimaethor event, in Lond Col, Dor-en-Ernil
@Pele Alarion @lantaelen

As the talk turned from unfavourable subjects such as suspicion and murder, instead toward more appealing prospects, such as feasting and fun, Isys glanced up from her thoughts. She was glad that it had been Abrazimir that had come across the mysterious trinket, rather than some other less likely to award it due consideration and she was surprised though not unpleasantly so, to witness Pele openly embracing the opportunity to take a rest from her usual concerns. Yes, dressing and events could prove a concern, but compared to what the Captain had recently been forced to contend with, it ought only be a relief.

“I have no doubt the Lady Azraindil will be the perfect guide for such a one as yourself, Pele,” Isys afforded approval to the pair of her associates and their plan. Their entertainment was after all, abounding on the Dimaethor side of the estuary. And, having once observed her young kinswoman during a bout of pearl diving that the younger had been, at least back then, quite keen on, it seemed rather plausible that Abrazi’s younger sister would be well versed for advising a woman such as Pele into an appropriate veil of suitable sheen and silks without muting the woman’s athletic prowess. A very good fit indeed.

“Sea and sky, sand and stone, there is no finer place than home,” she uttered as the Knight professed of his luxuriant stomping grounds, half about a daze before recalling herself back to attention with an abrupt and alarmingly then authentic smile at some very short notice. “Perhaps we did you wrong with such grand attention to your station back at the entrance,” she laid a hand gently upon the guest’s shoulder, and her smile widened almost conspiratorially. “You maybe ought to have come entirely incognito, Pele, as though you were Thorongil himself, and surveyed all that there is to be seen without the weight of any expectation laid about yourself."

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

Had anyone of her Household seen the young Trevadir helping Gaerlothriel on how to hold her arm out properly like a perch, it would have been the worse fuss raised in an Age. The excitement of the moment however made such a threat escape even her mind, as she soaked up all Trevadir had to tell her about the glove, the perching, the movement of birds. He certainly didn’t do this everyday but more than enough, clearly. More than what she and Dulinneth got to do. It was astounding.

She hardly heeded what he must have did in lieu of bird training as Ruinya perched on her arm, on the glove. The little bird was roosted right on her arm! A slight, little squeal of joy and wonder resounded from Gaerlothriel’s throat at the sight and feel of it all. She hardly felt the talons through the glove. Trevadir was saying something about Minas Tirith but never having been there, and only enviously hearing tales of it’s grandeur, she was content to ignore it. Only the mention of Trevadir being a musician drew her attention back to the young man. Really? What instrument? Bird taming and musical skill? This young man had everything. Maybe he could play her and Linny a song later too.

Never mind that they might be…imposing, too much, on this young man and his little brother.

Gently, she may pet the bird. And she proceeded as if she was carrying the most fragile vase in the world, raising her other hand slowly up to the bird’s front, where Ruinya might see it coming and not panic. Hopefully. Trevadir warned it might not always be so but it seems she was lucky, as the bird permitted her touch. With a single, outstretched finger, Gaerlothriel ran the side of her digit up the bird’s proud chest, and down again, feeling how soft the fur and feathers were. It was marvelous and she needed to stop herself from bursting with giggles at the sheer splendidness of it all.

”They are very soft.” She affirmed about Ruinya’s chest feathers. She dipped her finger behind the bird, marveling at Ruinya’s calm, stroking her finger along the tail feathers. ”She’s so very behaved. I like her.” She complimented further, eyes darting between Ruinya and Trevadir, ensuring she had the bird tamer’s approval for every little act she carried out. She tried talking to Ruinya a little too, switching to what little she knew of Sindarin, the elven tongue. ”Aren’t you just a marvel? You get to fly so high and see all the sights we can only dream about. Will you sing a song for me later? No? It’s okay.” She cooed quietly at Ruinya, while petting her back gently. The bird didn’t seem to respond to her requests but that was okay, Gaerlothriel knew not to ask for more blessings when she was already enduring a miracle.

She had no inkling that the grandfather, Dravedir, had returned.

”I would never do anything to harm her. But…what was that word you used? I never heard it before. Raptor. What’s that? You know so much about birds for being a musician!” She inquired of Trevadir. Birds, music, strange words, who was this man and why hadn’t he been around to her household? She didn’t know how long she got to enjoy this moment, a bird perched on her arm. She was starting to feel rather sore, keeping her arm holstered up and kept so still, but she refused to give in. She was going to enjoy it as much as she could, until it was taken away from her, which she would relinquish politely.

---

@ercassie @Pele Alarion

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
With friends and old comrades, Dimaethor family estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

”Many banquets.” Abrazimir tacked on to Pele’s excitement. It was an expensive undertaking, but the respect and legitimacy that would come from it for the Dimaethors could not be valued in silver coins. ”The competition though, I would not declare to be a thing of comradeship. All here might have fought on the same side during the War, but once upon those sands, it’s every man, or woman, for themselves.” He said with a little shrug and a half smirk. He certainly wasn’t going to hold back his talents for a former comrade or fellow kinsman. Or kinswoman.

Pele cracked a joke about her lodgings, perhaps thinking it was too excessive, not to mention the addition of a lady-in-waiting to assist her. Would Azraindil be bored? Most certainly not, for the reason Pele just stated and which Isys reinforced. She was no fancy lady. And that would be a novelty around here. A warrior woman. Two of them, in fact. The Dimaethor parents might not like it, but Abrazimir knew it would give his dreamy eyed sister something to enjoy and try out. The two women, Pele and Azraindil could learn a lot from each other. ”Quarter of a castle, but half is doable.” He grinned back at her.

Sea and sky, sand and stone, there is no finer place than home. ”Poetry, Lady Azrubêl? Leave some grandiose displays for our esteemed performers and entertainers, why don’t you.” Abrazimir quirked at eyebrow at her, deliberately using the formal styling of her name just to tease her further. ”I can assure you both that the noble Thorongil would be no stranger here. My father met him.” Last thing they wanted was “his” attentions. But he shrugged again and understood the statement.

”You’ll be okay, Captain. Silliness will be in much abundance here, from avenues and corners least expected. Few will remember any with any sort of precision or accuracy. And if they do, with any sort of judgement, then their opinions should not be esteemed very highly in the first place, being figures of bleakness and tedium.” He tried to further assure Pele. ”Let us have a drink instead. It would be my pleasure and honour to serve you both a cup of whatever you desire, be it juice, mead, ale, wine, or even water. Then perhaps we can head on to the jousts, and see what names are filling out the Lists?” He suggested as a way of activity. And maybe catch sight of his two wards he was supposed to be watching but he trusted they were still on festival grounds somewhere. Silliness from avenues least expected indeed.

[Pele Alarion]

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

Pele only shook her head with some amusement and eventually accepted that the visit would not include sleeping on gnarly roots and hard ground under a tree and surviving of what can be foraged in the forest.

"Fine, I'll do my best to make sure Lady Azraindil does not regret her duty and I'll try to inhabit at least some of the premises as much as I can," she then promised, her blue eyes glinting with merriment and a grin on her lips. Finding herself thrown into this environment right after having to deal with all the trouble back in Minas Tirith felt rather strange, and Pele felt at a loss of what to do with herself, while at the same time she welcomed the experience of days without being on constant guard and burden of duties. And so she felt grateful that her friends were around to help her transition and learn again what the joy of living was. Indeed, she craved to find this joy again.

"I figure sneaking in unrecognisible would have had its benefits," she chuckled softly, "But if the people really do give themselves in to fun like you say they might... perhaps it would not do much harm even if they knew who I am."

It seemed that Abrazimir and Ilisys were not as much worried as Warder about her appearance and any remaining straw in her hair, so Pele figured that perhaps there was no need to make haste and change into silks and gowns.

"Well, juice - and yes even water - sounds really good, I find myself rather thirsty," she agreed and indeed almost felt her throat somewhat parched even though she had made sure to keep herself hydrated while she sat with Temper under the deck. "Don't mind seeing the jousters' names either, though perhaps I wouldn't know many." Even though Pele had eagerly refused to participate in this kind of competition before because she was not familiar with it, she was still curious. Besides, it would give her an insight into any possible competition for other events. "No comradeship you say, Abrazimir?" she then added almost as an afterthought. "I'm used to facing fierce opposition, so no problem..."

[Rillewen]

| | |
Dravedir, Dulinneth(12) and Tobedir(14), with Trevadir(20)
Lond Col

Watching the four young people talking together, Dravedir felt a growing sense of apprehension deep in his gut. He didn't know who the younger girl might be, but he knew perfectly well who the other was. The youngest Lady Dimaethor. She looked just like her older sister once looked... and Trevadir looked like his father did at the same age. It was almost like catching a glimpse into the past...



Many years ago...

Devedir grinned, watching the hawk dive toward the ground at a speed that seemed impossible. He held up a little trinket with ribbons dangling off the end. Closer and closer she sped toward the pair of teenagers, and then, at seemingly the last moment, Devedir tossed the device up slightly. The hawk caught it in midair, swooped upward just in time to avoid a collision, and leveled out her flight before circling around to land on Devedir's outstretched arm. He turned to the pretty girl standing there and gave a dramatic bow, wearing a proud grin. "Always a thrill to give a performance of my bird's skills, especially to such a pretty audience." He declared with a smile. "Would you like to hold her?" He was pleased by Zorzimril's enthusiasm. After offering her one of the spare gloves, he then (gladly) stepped closer to help her, gently taking hold of her arm, adjusting the angle so she was holding it just right.. (though it wasn't really necessary) before carefully transferring the hawk to perch on her arm. "Hey, I think she likes you." He grinned.

"Devedir!" His father's stern, disapproving voice interrupted just at that moment. "What did I tell you about this sort of thing? These birds are not toys to take out and play with anytime you wish." Not to mention that he had recently noticed the young lady's father not far off, and he feared how things might go if her father saw this. Attempting to get the two teenagers away from each other before such a calamity could happen, he continued to address his son, "Stop bothering the young lady, and take care of your bird. Ristril needs to rest now, after all the energy she's expended just so you could show off." He scowled in disapproval.

Dev sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at his father being so overprotective of the birds. "Fathers..." He muttered to the girl, in a tone too low for his father to overhear, with barely concealed contempt for fathers in general. "Maybe I could show you more, later? When he's not around?" He suggested, focused solely on her, without really much concern about whether her father would be opposed to him talking to his daughter. Or without being aware of how close he might be... the man could even be standing right behind Devedir, for all he knew.



Back in the present, Dravedir struggled to stay calm, and held onto the hope that history was not repeating itself. Still, the scene was so alike, it was difficult not to panic. He remained rooted to the ground for a moment, watching with a growing frown as he tried to think of the best thing to do. Because, clearly, he had not done so well with raising his own son, and he hoped very much to keep his grandsons from turning out just like him...


Trev grinned, watching the young lady hold so carefully still, and so gently reach out to pet the bird. He might have told her she needn't be that still and careful, but it was better that she show more caution than necessary, than not enough. He had grown rather used to being around birds of prey, so it was easy to not think about how someone else might feel nervous about it. They did have awfully sharp talons and beaks, after all. He recalled hearing something about his uncle being attacked by..well, that was a different sort of situation and he didn't want to think about that.

He was slightly surprised when Gaerlothriel started speaking to Ruinya in Sindarin, and raised his eyebrows slightly in curiosity as he tried to follow along with what she'd said. But, well, his Sindarin was rather rusty after about five years of not having to make use of it. And he'd never really applied himself to his studies as he probably should have, before that, so.. he missed a lot. But he got the gist of what she was saying to the bird, and smiled slightly. "I think she likes you, too." He declared, shrugging slightly. "She doesn't sing, though. A red-tailed hawk makes a screeching sound, usually while soaring way up in the air." he explained. "You've probably heard the sound before, like a million times." he added, having observed that most people tended to tune out background noises if they were familiar enough. After a little hesitation, he pulled his flute from the custom-made holster. "Like this," He positioned his fingers carefully and blew so that it copied the sound as closely as he could make it. It did have a slightly different tone, coming from a flute, rather than a bird, but it was close enough to give her the idea and be recognizable enough, if she had heard the sound before. Ruinya tilted her head toward him, her interest piqued, and seemed to be listening. Lothuial, perched on his shoulder, turned her head as if seeking the source of the sound, and then ruffled her feathers. Trev grinned slightly at the bird's reaction. "I better stop that, they might think there's another hawk around."

He glanced briefly toward Toby and his new friend. They were still chatting eagerly about the birds and animals and things, and he didn't want to be nosy so he turned his attention back toward Gaerlothriel. "Oh, Raptor is the sort of bird that they are. Like... you know, Falcons, hawks, eagles, owls... all those are called Raptors. Birds of prey, that hunt with their talons and sharp beaks and all that, you know? I.. don't really remember where that came from or what it means, though." He frowned slightly in a failed attempt at pulling the information back into recollection.

"It means 'to seize, or plunder', which is a very good way to describe birds that swoop down on their prey." Dravedir spoke up at last, a frown on his face as he leveled a meaningful look at his grandson, coming closer to the young folks. "I think it's time to put Ruinya and Lothuial away now, Trevadir." He informed him. "My apologies for his enthusiasm, lady Dimaethor, and I hope you haven't been kept from anything important." He turned to the young lady with a polite bow of his head.

Trev paused, blinking at the name 'Dimaethor' with a brief questioningly glance at her, but then inwardly shrugged. So he was definitely right, this was indeed a young lady of nobility. And even more than that; the daughter of the Lord hosting this event. But still... "But, she requested that she might hold the bird." He pointed out, a little confused why he would be giving him such a disapproving frown. "I didn't think there'd be any harm in it, so long as she used the glove."

"The birds need to settle into their temporary homes as soon as possible. This is a new place, and a new environment, and they're a little further from home than they're used to, and I don't want them getting too stressed." Dravedir answered, with some annoyance seeping into his tone. "That goes for you too, Tobedir." He added, turning to the younger pair. "You need to make sure that she's comfortable and fed, so you had better go and do that."

Toby and Dulinneth both showed disappointed expressions at this decree, but she was used to being told she couldn't do this or that, and hid the disappointment quickly. "Here you go, birdy," She spoke softly to the unnamed bird as she carefully passed it back to Toby. "We'll have to think more about what to name her. Perhaps Gaer and I could come by again, tomorrow?" She asked, hopeful that they could see more of the birds.

"Well, I don't mind," Toby answered. "If Grandfather doesn't object..." He added, with a slightly uncertain glance toward the falconer, hoping he wouldn't say no.

Dravedid was preoccupied, and didn't hear that comment, so he didn't respond. He was worried about whether the two girls' fathers might be about to swoop in and make a big fuss about this whole thing... "Trevadir, now."

Toby covered his little kestrel with one hand. "Bye, Dulinneth, and Gaerlothriel." He smiled at both of them and then glanced down at the bird. "I'd better take her inside. But it was nice to meet you both." He said, before setting off toward the tent, walking carefully.

Trev nodded slightly, wondering a little about why his grandfather was acting so...weird. Sure, he was protective of his birds, and he'd known of him to sort of overreact about stuff concerning the birds, but this seemed... a little different. And he wasn't sure why, but decided not to make a big deal about it. "Yes, sir." He answered quietly, and turned back to the young lady. "Sorry, Gaerlothriel. I.. need to take her inside now." He knew she had to have heard all of that, but he wasn't sure what else to say here. He held out his arm, ready to take the bird back, but waited for Gaer to be the one to nudge Ruinya toward him, so that she could at least have a chance to say goodbye to the bird or whatever she might want to do.


(scenario in the flashback was plotted in advance with @Lantaelen)

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

Many years ago…

Zorzimril meandered her way up the dusty stone trail back to her villa, carrying a basket of produce balanced on the side of her hip while her free arm dangled lightly in skip with her walking pace. Another bright yet dull summer’s day, the eldest Dimaethor daughter sent off to collect the various offerings and tributes the various farmers gave to the ruling noble family. The best apple, the juicest strawberries, the freshest baked loaves of bread. Collecting their due, as her father put it. Yet after several years of making the rounds, the courteous smiles and polite greetings and flattering remarks no longer held much interest for Zorzimril. She had long since mastered the look of seeming determined in face, yet being far off in her mind. If only something interesting would happen for once.

And it did, jolting her from this reprieve as a hawk soared and seized a device out of the air. For a moment, Zorzimril had thought she had just seen a smaller bird be caught and strangulated in the mighty talons of a greater beast but saw it was only apart of a performance, conducted by a lone bird tamer who, with the skillful hawk mounted on his arm, turned and presented both himself and the creature direct to Zorzimril. For a moment, she was just dumbfounded, feeling her cheeks colour at the kindly words. Was he talking to her? Did he know who she was? The man offered to let her hold the creature even, causing her to startle. She felt dumb. Where were her words? She glanced up the road and the front gates of her family home was right there. Father could be looking. But he wasn’t…here. At that very moment.

Still balancing her basket on her side, she held out her free arm and with an observant air of reservedness, allowed the young man to handle her limb and adorn her with the glove, allowing the hawk to shift onto Zorzimril. A smile formed on her lips, only for Ristril however. ”Aren’t you just a delight. I envy you, getting to fly so high and leave your troubles and obligations behind, singing the songs you want to sing. One can only dream.” Zorzimril spoke softly to Ristril, in Sindarin, very similar to what her younger sister would be saying years and years later.

Yes, fathers… Devedir’s remark about them finally drew a reaction from the shocked and frozen stiffed woman, who let out a giggle. Oh yes, she understood fully. “Very burdensome.” She remarked, still in the Sindarin tongue, understanding Devedir’s common speech yet not using it herself. She was Lady Dimaethor however. It was expected of her. Her eyes finally flashed back to the young man when he hinted he could teach her more. The smile was gone from Zorzimril’s lips now. He wanted to proposition and schedule with the Dimaethor’s eldest daughter? How tenacious of him! She gestured for the hawk to be transferred off her arm. This was starting to make her feel tired.

”Zorzimril!” A stern voice called. Not her father’s, but her father’s master-at-arms, and thus his chief lieutenant and copy in all his policies and mood. Which included…protecting the honour of his eldest daughter, which was tarnished by talking to this low-man. With him was coming four men, with four dogs, all on a leash. For now.

Zorzimril smiled sadly at Devedir, dropping her arm and wiggling the glove from her limb. ”You could show me more.” She continued, still speaking in the Sindarin tongue, not knowing, or even caring, if the young man before her could understand. ”But I think, bird-man, you’ll need to sprout some wings of your own, first. Better speed along, now.” She said, in a rather polite but apologetic tone. The man did bring some colour to her day, but what was about to follow…could not be helped. Fathers, indeed…

In the present, Azraindil continued to trace her finger along the bird’s fine mane. Soft as feathers, with not a speck of grit or dirt or anything. So clean and proper! And seated so very ladylike and appropriate. She could watch this bird all day. Study it, learn from it, maybe even in a childish fashion mimic it’s tone and voice. Wasn’t there something in the old stories, with elves and the old men of the past, of communicating with bird and beast? Maybe it wasn’t just tales and myths after all. Her attention was drawn finally back to Trevadir when he drew out a flute. Her smile remained fixed. "That's yours as well? That looks so neat! Is it elvish?" She asked, half-joking but half-serious as well. How intricate the flute looked, it may as well be elvish to her. The few notes he blew had some effect on Ruinya, who adhered immediately, including Lothuial. ”Let’s hope there isn’t another. They look so at peace and rest and I would hate to see that disturbed.” She noted herself. There would be time for that later, during the performance. For now, she was content for this close up view of it all.

The term raptor was explained to her and she watched Trevadir without pause or break as he did so. So learned for just a bird-tamer’s grandson. What an interesting life. She opened her mouth to ask a follow up question, but then a newer, more sternly voice cut in and she nearly jumped out of her boots, thinking they were completely safe and secure in their own little corner for…well, forever. As long as she and Linny liked, and wanted. It was not the case, as the grandfather, Dravedir stepped into view. His explanation of the word was more pointed. It was a term akin to hunter, or predator, one that sought out weaker flesh, to dominate and consume and pillage. Azraindil looked at the birds, so innocent and polite, and hated to remember that they were, like many, apart of the animal kingdom, with all it’s hierarchies…and brutalities. A harsh, and most unfun, reminder, to endure on this sunny day.

”No, uh, my apologies. I was just curious, me and my friend…” Azraindil tried to stammer out a defense for the young boys but her voice suddenly seemed to escape her, more like a whimper from a colossal abyss than the more profound, enthused voice she just had a moment ago, haranguing Trevadir with questions and queries. The grandfather however came to put things in order. Too much excitement for the birds, they did have a busy workload ahead of them, and even Azraindil felt the sting of embarrassment in realizing she must have imposed rudely on the birds for a private viewing when even they needed their rest. They were, after all, living things.

Dulinneth at least had the ambition to ask if they could return to name the unnamed raptor, but they were given a nonanswer as Dravedir doubled down and reaffirmed the workload on the two boys. ”Goodbye, Tobedir.” Azraindil beckoned. ”Goodbye, Trevadir. Thank you and…I’m sorry. We’ll come by again for the…show, the performance.” She concluded a bit nervously, but with a glance The birds and gloves were returned. She did not hesitate to return Ruinya back to Trevadir. Azraindil rejoined Dulinneth side by side, holding her fox dolly that was gifted to her. She turned to look at Dravedir and felt an impulse to explain herself and hopefully not have him be too harsh on the young boys, but her words seemed to fail her. What could she say that would be diplomatic and kindly? She didn’t know. She wasn’t used to this sort of interaction.

But it had been so fun and exciting.

Nothing more to do, she and Dulinneth could return back to the festival grounds, with the various pavilions and banqueting tents. ”We should find my brother, just so he could have a look at us and still see we’re under his protection. For appearances, at least.” She said at first. Oh now she could be conspiratorial when there was no pressure or attention on her. ”That was very remarkable. I’ve never held a bird like that before. Have you? I feel like I could spend hours every day talking and playing with the birds.” She looked at her friend and smiled. ”What did you and Tobedir talk about? Trevadir told me what a raptor was. How music can help direct or focus the birds. They have such extraordinary names, too.” Azraindiil noted, before stirring. ”The birds, I mean.” Not the boys.

[Karis Ziranphel]

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

Ziran lifted an eyebrow and breathed out a slight huff of laughter at Macardil’s teasing that he should let her defend him loudly, but she remained quiet to give him time to process and respond in turn. When he continued with a smile, the import of his words brought the hint of a tremulous smile to her lips as the sweet confidence he expressed in her caught at her heart and soothed the string from earlier. She couldn’t have spoken just then, but his teasing brought back her equilibrium swiftly, and she narrowed her brown eyes at him. Indeed not. For more than one reason.


She nodded slightly when he went on to say that despite his extreme confidence in her capabilities he did not want her to retaliate, giving his reasoning, but she remained silent for a few moments as she processed her thoughts. Her eyes dropped to the deep blue of his tunic, and briefly traced the design of the silver trim before returning to meet his equally blue gaze. She didn’t disagree with his reasoning, even if she hoped for different results from people. Many were likely to keep their opinions steadfastly despite evidence of his exoneration, and she couldn’t expect any different. A smile crept across her face slowly as she looked at him. Honor and compassion, and a deep sense of justice drove him, and was part of what had drawn her to him in the first place, and her respect and love for him had not lessened with these challenges.“Thank you, Macardil, for your assurances and explanations.” Her voice was low and soft. “It does much to ease my heart.”


Lifting her free hand to his cheek, she brushed a light caress over his beloved features before dropping it to rest over his heart. She wouldn’t push the boundaries, but felt the angle at which they stood would shield her action enough to not invite comment, while allowing her silent statement. “I will attempt to be more the lady here and less the warrior, but I cannot separate the two, and the whole of me is yours. Be at peace, Macardil.” Ziran dropped her fingers further to close over their joined hands. They should probably return and rejoin Silivren or explore the festival grounds, but she was also glad that he had wanted to take this time to reconcile with the sea as their witness.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

|
Dravedir and Trevadir(20)
Lond Col

Letting Ruinya perch on his arm once more, Trev offered an apologetic shrug to the young lady. "Sorry. I'm sure Ruinya will be better rested by then, so perhaps you'll be allowed to hold her at that time." he answered quietly, when she said she would come for the performance. "Goodbye, my ladies." He added with a little bow, unsure how formal he ought to be here. They had certainly not introduced themselves as nobility, but, well, after learning for sure that they were such, it felt inappropriate to ignore that fact, especially with his grandfather here, giving him a highly disapproving frown. Baffled by the falconer's stern insistence on taking the birds inside, he was oblivious to the prior history between the two families.

Trev was so caught off guard by the entire situation, he nearly forgot that Lady Dimaethor had asked him a question shortly before Dravedir appeared out of nowhere, apparently just for the sole purpose of scolding his grandsons. When he remembered, they were already starting off, but he felt bad for leaving the question unanswered. "It's not, by the way." He called after Gaerlothriel, after the two young ladies started away. He held up his flute, to show what he was referring to. "Not elvish." He smiled slightly but left it at that. Perhaps another time, he might get an opportunity to explain in more depth, but he wasn't really interested in going into some lengthy explanation about his flute right now.

After a little wave, he turned to head into the tent with the birds, and sighed softly as his grandfather followed him in... figuring he and Toby were about to get some sort of lecture or something.

---

Dulinneth(12)

Though disappointed that the bird excitement had been put to a stop so abruptly, Dulinneth joined Gaerlothriel as she set off toward the festival grounds. "Yes," She replied with a little sigh, after her friend mentioned going to find her brother. At least it was Gaer's brother, and not Dulinneth's, they were talking about finding.

A little flush of excitement returned to her face as Gaer mentioned the birds. "I know! I couldn't believe it, that was amazing!" She grinned. "I want one of my own, they're so pretty, and soft!" She let out a little sigh of longing. "If only I could. I doubt I'd be allowed to get one. Unless..." She paused, thinking about a possible plot, then shrugged. "Maybe, I don't know. I'll have to think about that," She tilted her head, thinking about the possible scheme forming in her head. If Tog was interested in getting a bird to aid him in his hunting endeavors, then perhaps she could convince her parents to let her have one as well, since it wouldn't be entirely fair for him to get one and not her, right? But, of course, they might say that it wasn't really something for girls, she realized with a little disappointment. And then Tog would have one and she wouldn't. But, perhaps she could make it work out anyway.

Gaer asked about her and Toby, and drew Dulinneth back out of her scheming thoughts. "Oh, mostly animals, birds and things like that," She answered Gaer's inquiry. "He's very excited about bringing his bird home to Minas Tirith. And I was telling him about some of my..friends." She smiled as she walked, thinking about how she might be able to work things out so that she could get a pet bird of her own. "I wish I could go to Minas Tirith, someday." She added softly, with another thought in mind, which she regretted being unable to tell Gaer about. "Well," She smiled cheerily. "Let's find your brother then. And perhaps, after that, we could sneak off and check on Rhovan," She added, hopeful for a chance to see her horse.

[Arnyn]

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

After both having been reassured that the events upon their arrival had not left a stain on their relationship, they'd returned to Silivren at the Himhathol pavilions. Silivren had seemingly recognized the need for lighter subjects, and had guided conversation to topics that avoided any possible heavy sentiments and discussion. Experienced in navigating the quagmires of high society, it did not prove much of a challenge.

As for Macardil, his thoughts were monopolized by other concerns. While he spoke frequently, his words remained superficial, and he made no attempts to address any topics that required more attention. After an hour or so, he excused himself from the ladies with the expected formalities as well as additional signs of caring for both his betrothed and his mother that were entirely his own (and proper), and retreated into his own tent.

It was not clear exactly what he was occupying his time with. Yet he soon called upon Ruthor, and it would not be unimaginable that the two were discussing the upcoming joust, where the one would squire for the other.

[Lantaelen]

@arnyn @ercassie @Karis Ziranphel @Pele Alarion @Rillewen

The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil

The day was coming to an end, the sinking Sun casting an orange glow over the shoreline of Lond Côl. Men and women in proud heraldry of House Dimaethor began to move between the banqueting pavilions, igniting braziers and torches in scones for artificial light, while a trio of trumpeters moved onto the sands of the prepared jousting grounds. A hour prior to sunset, they let loose a chorus of loud notes, to summon all guests and competitors to the arena for the draw and match making, which would form the lists for the upcoming tournament. On both sides of the sands, several bleachers and stands had been erected by carpenters for the onlookers and guests to watch. The middle of these, on either side, were reserved for the nobles and those personally invited by the gracious hosts.

The competitors, their horses and squires, were to stand upon the sands, while a great board was wheeled out and an expert calligrapher prepped to write their names in the corresponding positions. Names of the competing warriors were placed into an overturned helm, from which they were drawn and matched up.

First round. Toggornir Talven…Abrazimir Dimaethor.

Second round. Torthon Talven…Suiledir of Anfalas.

Third round. Macardil Himhathol…Bardaer of Ethring.

Fourth round. Rûthon of Pelagir…returning Champion, Ilisys Azrubêl.

---

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Competing in the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

The day of the joust was here. Early in the morning, with only a modest coverage of cloud, under the bright, shining sun. Banners of many Houses and that of the White Swan of Dol Amroth flew high in the breeze, as musicians played a colourful tune to serenade the various guests and onlookers to their seats about the jousts. Behind the stands, the competitors had stalls and stations for preparing themselves for the match. All four quarterfinal matches would be conducted this day, with the semi finals the next, and the finals on the third day. There could only be one winner. And each match would continue and persist until one challenger was knocked completely into the sands.

It had been years since Abrazimir last competed. Certainly not since before the War. Yet he had trained and pursued the jousting art since his preteen years. Including a regretful loss to his own kinswoman, Ilisys. But he was older now. More experienced. Tougher, too. Both him and his steed, Sirdal, a midnight-hued horse that had been with him since the beginning, through the Pelennor and more. Uirchanar, an elderly man-at-arms that had served House Dimaethor for almost forty years, assisted in prepping his horse, ensuring the saddle was fixed alright and the various straps were tightened and not lacking in durability or fragility. Everything had been made anew and fresh just for this competition. That unfortunately could have the drawback of none of the gear or equipment having been tested in battle or other stresses. But they were going to see.

The din of the crowd was palpable. A whisper or anything less was drown out. They were excited, the bystanders. Drink and foodstuffs flowed freely. Paid for with Dimaethor coin, to be enjoyed at Dimaethor expense, perhaps watching a Dimaethor knocked into the sands at the same time. ”Ready.” Uirchanar declared, walking around Sirdal, who grazed amongst the grass at the feet of Abrazimir’s prep station, seemingly uncaring or unworried about what was to come. But like any horse of the Edain, once Abrazimir mounted him, he would know. Abrazimir drew a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer to Uinen, the selected patron of his House. His father, his mother, his sister, they would all be watching. All his people. Looking at him. Their future leader.

”Let’s not disappoint, shall we?” Abrazimir said and fixed his Swan-helm upon his head, silver wings gleaming at the flanks of it. He drew up a black cloth from his neck to cover his mouth and nose, leaving only his sea-grey eyes exposed. In a swift gesture, he clambered onto his horse and set his booted feet within the stirrups. Sirdal snorted and shifted, but adjusted swiftly to the armed and armoured knight upon him, in full harness with plate and chain mail. Uirchanar handed him the first of his lance, a mix of swirling white and blue colours which were the token hues of many a Dol Amroth family. Uirchanar would bring many more to keep nearby. Abrazimir clutched the lance, leaning it against his shoulder and up, his shield in the other hand. He had no need of a sword. Not today. But Uirchanar would carry it anyways, for ceremonial purposes.

And the ring. He still hadn’t found who it belonged to. He clutched it in his hand.

With a nudge, he urged his mount out of the station and out towards the north end of the joust where he was assigned, with his competitor, the Talven boy, set across from him at the other end. Abrazimir didn’t know much about Toggornir. He was the step-brother to his sister’s betrothed, though with now the second Taurhebor sibling missing, quite possibly deceased, it may be that he was about to go up against his own future brother-in-law. But…so? That had no bearing upon the other man’s martial prowess. Who was Toggornir? What battles had he won? Which had he lost?

It was time.

Ladies and Gentlemen…!

---

Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor,
Observing the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Ladies and Gentlemen! It is with great pleasure and honour, under the auspices of your humble hosts, Lord and Lady Dimaethor, to present to you, the return of the joust to this Fourth Age of Middle Earth…!

Great trumpets heralded the start of the joust. Every seat and space seemed occupied by an eager face. In the center, the splendid box for the host themselves and their friends and family saw it all. The parents, centered either around Lord Zâinabên or Lady Orelnith, were positioned near the top. Yet the youngsters, the children and those adolescents not yet old enough to compete, or unwilling, were in the first row, only a pace from the thick wooden fencing between the competitors and the stands. They had been asked politely not to crowd the fence, so as to block view of those seated behind. Lady Azraindil had been both careful and yet careless in who she invited to sit with her. Dulinneth, Dinalogassel, any of their kin or Abrazimir’s friends, were asked.

”It’s starting…!” Azraindul chuckled with barely contained glee, nudging Dulinneth and Dina. ”Aren’t you excited? Oh, I hope nobody gets hurt, Valar willing.” She prayed, though she didn’t let it dampen her spirits. Her brother was competing…against Dulinneth’s brother though. Half-brother. She didn’t share her brother’s thoughts though about who Toggornir might become to her. She wondered vaguely as well where that Trevadir was. The bird shows were going on all day yet decorum required Azraindil to be here, presentable and polite. She at least managed to wrangle some of her friends to join her.

”You think Lady Azrubêl is going to win again? I was just a babe when she did it.” She inquired of her companions. The herald was speaking again though so she had to fall silent.

…To spark off this illustrious affair, the son and heir of your host, Lord Abrazimir, veteran of the Pelennor and more, is facing off against a most esteemed newcomer, Toggornir of House Talven. Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for your competitors…! The herald pronounced in a clear and loud tone, igniting a chorus of applause and cheers as the competitors could make their way out. The protocol was to ride, opposite to one another, along the edges of the sands, to present themselves to the spectators. Maybe even garner a favour from a particular Lady or some. Certainly for Abrazimir, the eligible bachelor of House Dimaethor. Yet, midway through his ride along the perimeter to the cheers of men and women, he paused closet to Lady Azraindil and gestured at her.

”Me?” Azraindil inquired, pointing at herself.

”Come here.” Abrazimir insisted, beckoning her to the fence.

”Why?” Azraindil asked again, comfortable on her bench.

”Come. Here.” Abrazimir reiterated, trying to be heard above the crowd despite being like, six paces from his sister. She got up and came to the fence, but still that was not enough. ”Up. Closer.” Azraindil sighed and moved to step on the lowest rung of the fence, elevating herself to be more on Abrazimir’s raised platform upon his mount.

”What?” She asked, annoyed. ”You’re supposed to ask an eligible Lady for her favour-“

”Never mind that.” He rebuked rather hastily. ”Take this.” Abrazimir extended his closed hand and when his sister offered her hand, he dropped the ring into her palm. ”Find out who it belongs to.” He instructed his sister, taking hold of his lance again and urging his mount.

”But-“ Azraindil started to say but her brother moved on, leaving her confused and irritated. ”Good luck." She muttered. "Hmph.” She pouted, moving to dismount, looking at the strange ring in her palm. It was of gold, with a bear, and some other tokens. Someone lost this? ”Be careful.” Her father called out, much to her further embarrassment. She could dismount from a fence, a pace above the ground, by the Valar… She went and sat next to her friends, seated, for soon Toggornir in his circuit would be passing by them for their inspection, prior to the competitors taking up their place in preparation for the first tilt. One hand was closed tight around the ring, momentarily forgetting her brother's request as she did not understand it, more enthused to watch the spectacle about to begin before them.

[Arnyn]

Lord Macardil Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
The Draw

Macardil and Ruthor had been busy. Checking whether the lord's armor still fit him well. Ruthor heading to the smiths with a full purse and a few pieces of said armor for some minor, last minute adjustments. After all, it had to fit just so. And it had been a long time since he had last worn it. Some of his preferences had changed.

Before the trumpeters announced it was time for the draw, Macardil had changed into a different apparel, still displaying house colors but this time without any black and with more off-white interspersed between the grey and blue. It would be getting dark, after all. And while he did not appreciate the whispers, he knew it was important to stand out during the draw. Making some sort of good impression would be necessary, since jousters more often than not profited from the crowd if it was favorable. Even if most if not all of his efforts would be in vain - which Macardil suspected they would be - Silivren had provided a rather long lecture on how this ill-fated given should carry no bearing on his actions.

When the trumpet finally sounded, his squire had returned - with Night-shade already in tow. Silivren, Ziran, Macardil, Ruthor and Night-shade all approached the sands. Silivren took Ziran to the stands. The jouster, his squire and his steed stepped onto the sands.

During the entire proceedings of the draw, Macardil's expression was solemn. He ignored any looks and obvious backtalk, and drew on years of practiced confidence to cloak himself in just that. His shoulders did not slump. His back was straight. The look in his eyes was balanced. He offered every participant in the joust polite eyecontact followed by a respectful bow from the neck. And regardless of the others' reactions - or lack thereof - to this gesture, the Lord Himhathol stayed poised.

Eight there would be to joust. His first opponent: Bardaer of Ethring. And the next day, the victor of that bout would then face either Rûthon of Pelargir or... Ilisys Azrubêl.

No signs of his thoughts were visible in his expression, apart from quiet acceptance. And patience.

---

Lady Telirien of Pelargir
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: day 1

Even if he was wearing full armour on that battle-hardened body. Even with that black cloth covering his attractive face. The way he sat the horse and those sea-grey eyes told the Lady Terilien who he was before he was even announced or handed the lance with his house's colors.

Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor.

Terilien sighed whistfully. Along with some other dozen ladies in the stands, to be sure. It was a shame indeed, that the younger Lord Dimaethor seemed so disinterested in a good match and marriage. As if, after Imrahil's daughter, there could be no other? Perhaps Lord Abrazimir was still heart-broken over the failed match-up? Another sigh. That simply made him all the more desirable, did it not? A man who was so serious about his attentions?

Oh, and did he wear that Swan Knight armour well! Head slanted, hopelessly smitten, Lady Telirien was a tad slower than most in joining the chorus of cheers and applause. She cared little about his opponent. Togonir or something. A Talven. It mattered not. Telirien's cheers were measured, despite her sentiments - for it would not do for a lady of her stature to appear too eager. Never mind that she was. But if one had looked at her face, it would have been all too obvious.

Lord Abrazimir stopped in front of the stands then, not too far away. Apparently he wished to speak to his sister. Telirien could feel her heart beating in her throat. Could she? Would she? She was just beyond the Lady Azraindil, on Lord Abrazimir's continued trajectory. Telirien took a chance and threw her favor. An audacious gesture to offer, unasked!

The carefully embroidered piece of cloth floated and fluttering through the morning air. Only to softly land on the sands where the Lord Abrazimir and his mount had stood but a heatbeat before. But were now no longer. Telirien felt bereft. Embarrassed. Devastated. Her pretty face displayed all of these emotions.

But would she give up? Never! Surely, the Lord would win this joust against this Talven first-timer. And her chance would come again.

A look of determination mastered her features as she fixed her gaze on Lord Abrazimir. The joust... was about to begin!

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth, Dinalogassel, & Meressel
Azraindil's box

"Aren’t you excited?" Gaer asked, though it was already difficult to hear over the din of the eager crowd.

Excited didn't even begin to describe it! Dulinneth could hardly keep from bouncing up and down in delight as they finally began to announce the start of the event. "I can't wait!" She squealed eagerly. And it was all the more wonderful that she didn't have to stay with her mother throughout it. It was so much more fun here, with Gaer, and others close in age. "I sort of hope she does!" Dulinneth answered with a laugh, to Gaer's inquiry about Lady Azrubel. "If only just to show the men she can," She giggled. She knew how much it would irk her brother (at least, the one who was present) if that happened, and couldn't help feeling hopeful. Yet, she wouldn't be too terribly disappointed if that didn't happen. Just so long as the champion wasn't Tog, she thought. He'd be insufferably smug, if he somehow managed to win the tournament, especially after their father had made such a fuss about not wanting him to be in it. They'd spent a while arguing last night after doing the name drawing thing. 'Please, someone else win besides him...'

"I didn't even know women could be knights," Dina mentioned, wide-eyed with curiosity. "How ever did she manage to learn how to fight and everything?"

"Probably being rebellious, and extremely unladylike," Meressel tossed her curls over her shoulder as she answered her cousin. "Ooh, here they come!" She practically squealed distracted from that previous line of thought. "Aren't they handsome? Which one do you think will win?" She asked in general to those in their box, eagerly watching the contestants ride out onto the sands, in a pre-joust ritual. The first to be announced was Gaer's own brother, the heir of this whole estate. "I bet he'll win, he just looks like a champion, doesn't he?" She sighed, watching him ride around the arena in his gleaming armor. Never mind that she couldn't actually see his face. Or that he was at least twice her age. There weren't many eligible men around who were close to the right age for her, sadly.

Rolling her eyes at her cousin, Dina refrained from pointing out the obvious. She and Meressel had greatly differing interests, and she had found that it was often best to just nod along and pretend to agree or be listening. "I've never been to a joust before," Dina remarked, though her shy voice was drowned out by the noise all around. Watching, as the knight rode on after speaking with his sister, she glanced around at the fellow occupants of the box. She sort of wanted to ask what they were doing, and why, but also didn't know if she wanted to ask. So, instead, she kept quiet and watched curiously. Honestly, she was more intrigued with the horses than the men on them. "Oh, look that mane.. isn't he pretty!" She commented, admiring the gleaming dark coat and flowing mane on the knights' steed. It even seemed to be wearing a brand new saddle!

"I knoooooow," Meressel sighed dreamily, though her eyes were glued to the knight, not the horse.

"What was that about? What did he want?" Dulinneth asked Gaer, curious after watching Abrazimir ride away. It seemed mysterious, and she was rather intrigued. But, if it was personal or something, she wouldn't press the issue. Meanwhile, she could see her half-brother riding his way around the arena, and before long he was heading their way. She wondered what he might do when he reached them, and hoped he wouldn't be too weird toward Gaer.

---

Caeleb, Iuldir, & Tobedir
Also in the box, but a little apart from the girls

"Mother, I'll be alright," Caeleb insisted, sighing as his mother fussed and adjusted the blanket over his legs.

"You don't have to worry, ma'am, Tobedir and I will take very good care of Caeleb." Iuldir assured Lady Eglathor. Besides, there were servants all over the place, he refrained from pointing out. If there were any sort of issues, it wouldn't take much effort to find help.

"We'll be sure to watch that he doesn't get too excited, too." Toby added helpfully. "I know some about healing. My grandfather was a healer for decades." He informed her, leaving out the fact that that particular grandfather died before he was ever born, and he really knew very little about such skills, himself.

"See? You don't have to stay and watch over me, Mother." Caeleb said. "Go and enjoy yourself with the other ladies, you never get to socialize." He smiled, hopeful she might actually let him just hang out with his friends and other people around his age. "And anyway, Dina's not right here, and if I need anything she can help me."

Despite the obvious hesitance and worry in his mother's expression, Aurien finally conceded and reluctantly left her son to enjoy himself with his friends. Hoping that it wasn't a mistake.

As soon as the over-worried mother left, the boys let out a sigh of relief. "Now, we can properly enjoy the excitement. And just in time, too!" Iuldir grinned as the announcer declared the names of the two contestants. He wheeled Caeleb's chair up as close as it could get, so he could have a good view of the match, then set the locks so that it wouldn't roll when it shouldn't. Having helped make the chair, he knew exactly how to operate it, and had no trouble getting it locked into position.

The two knights were riding out and making a slow circle around the arena. "I bet Abrazimir will win, he looks a lot tougher than the other guy," Iuldir commented, then added proudly, "My grandfather made his armor, and Aunt Cali did a checkup on it, before the match. She wrote me about it. I wish I could've been there to help," He sighed regretfully. It would have been very exciting to get to talk with a real knight, and even work on his armor. Maybe someday...

"Maybe you can come help Cali, at her job?" Toby suggested, hopeful. That would mean Iuldir would come live in Minas Tirith, and he'd have a friend nearby! Although, it wouldn't be so great for Caeleb, he realized. He wasn't sure if Caeleb had any other friends at all, and Iuldir was able to come visit him quite often.

"She has mentioned that she'd like to have me come eventually," Iuldir replied. "I could work as an apprentice for her. But that's more like.. later on. When she's got our family's forge back and everything." Iuldir shrugged. "Anyway, I have to stick around for now, and help mother take care of Rissy."

Nodding, Toby didn't press the issue, knowing that was important to his friend. And he definitely wouldn't dream of suggesting that Iuldir should leave Rissy without her big brother to take care of her while their mother was working. Feeling really happy about Trev's return, he glanced around, searching the crowd below for his own big brother...

---

Trevadir
Mingling in the crowd

With the joust going on, there was really nothing to do out at the hunting grounds. Grandfather had insisted that he needed no help, yet he also would not leave his precious birds. They needed someone to watch over them, keep them calm, and also ensure that nothing disturbed them. But he had no problem with Tobedir and Trevadir going to watch the tournament, knowing how exciting such a thing would be for the young men. He'd seen plenty in his lifetime, and was perfectly fine with not attending another, so that they could watch.

Trevadir, for his part, was somewhat curious what all the hype was about. He'd never seen one of these tournaments, although he'd heard plenty of talk about them. His uncle, their mother's brother, had been a swan knight, although he really didn't remember his uncle Olthion all that well. He had perished, at the hands of pirates, many years ago. He had heard the tale from two sides now, and still didn't know exactly what to believe. Whatever the case, he wasn't sure if Toby knew the identity of the particular pirate responsible, but if he didn't, Trev felt it might be best to keep it that way. He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against a pole that made up part of the stands.

While Toby had joined his best friend Iuldir, and a mutual friend, to watch the matches together, Trev left him to enjoy the company of his friends. Instead, he went off to watch by himself, mingling with all the other folks without any sort of rank or social standing. 'Commoners'. He felt it might be best, so not to stand out as much. He couldn't deny feeling rather nervous, just being here. He recognized Abrazimir Dimaethor from his five long, unpleasant years board Dev's ship. A frequent enemy to pirates, Abrazimir. The man certainly did not like pirates... there was no question about that. Trev couldn't really fault him for it... he didn't either. Still, he was a bit nervous about whether the fearsome knight would recognize him and remember where he had seen him.

Pushing his straw hat down on his head, Trev shifted to lean his shoulder against the pole, and tried to relax. He'd stowed his flute in an inner pocket stitched into his vest, like he had worn at the midsummer festival. With so many people around, he didn't feel comfortable leaving it out in open view, where it might catch the eye of a thief. That was definitely not something he would ever want to lose. Watching the knights and their horses ride by, he wondered who the victor of this match would be.

---

Toggornir Talven
In the Arena, competing against Abrazimir Dimaethor

The moment had come at last. Toggornir's heart was racing as he swung up into the saddle. Togg took a moment to draw in a deep breath as he listened to the crowd out there, waiting for the first match. He'd been waiting for this moment for many years. His father never would let him compete, always saying he wasn't ready. Just because those stupid stepbrothers always beat him in practices, did not mean he couldn't face off against others in a tournament. And they were gone now. Both of them. And Father didn't know how much he had improved his skills since Anurion's departure. Togg felt sure he was ready for this. So, he had taken matters into his own hands.

While he still couldn't explain how the sign-up sheet had ended up being sent before he finished filling it out, Toggornir had managed to salvage matters, yesterday. The drawing of names last evening had been.. tense, to say the least. When they drew Toggornir's name, Torthon had been rather surprised, but managed to remain composed, and didn't even utter a protest about it. Yet, upon hearing whom his son would be matched against, Togg could tell by his father's expression he very displeased, even if no one else noticed. Yet Torthon had waited until they had bid their hosts a good night, and were safely in the guest chambers, before confronting him.


"I told you 'no', Toggornir," Torthon whirled on him as soon as the door had shut behind father and son. "And you go behind my back anyway? And not only that, you didn't even give me a warning? I had to find out in front of everyone that you'd signed yourself up against my orders? Why would you do that?"

"You never let me compete!" Togg protested. "I'm twenty years old, Father, I can do this. Why won't you let me?"

"You aren't ready for a tournament! You couldn't even defeat-"

"That was years ago, Father." Togg cut him off, angry, and unwilling to hear that hated name spoken aloud. "I'm older now than I was then, and better. I can do this. Let me at least try."

Torthon scowled and the two glared at each other for a long moment. "Looks like I have no choice, now." He answered finally. "I just hope you don't embarrass me, and yourself, tomorrow."

"I won't show up drunk, if that's what you mean." Togg retorted. "As for the match, I'll try my best to win. I.. didn't expect to be up against him, but.. I'm not going to back down."

"You don't have much of a chance at winning, you know." Torthon sighed. "Fine. What else have you signed up for? So I won't be surprised, when they announce it."

"The archery contest." Togg admitted.

"Well, you are at least fairly good at that," Torthon sighed, nodding. "Well, you'd better get some sleep then. We've got a lot to prepare for, tomorrow."


The argument last night with his father had left him a bit frustrated, but Toggornir was trying to push that from his mind. His armor had been polished to a mirror-like-shine. The horse was his own, which had traveled with them from home. Just as Dulinneth had brought along her horse, he had sneaked his along. Or, well, Maerdor had. Since Torthon had anticipated having Togg squire for him, he had not brought anyone else along to serve in that capacity. Togg was on his own, which was something he had overlooked. Oops. Holding his helmet in one arm, he inched his horse closer, until he could grab his lance from where he had it leaned against the nearby fence. Ha, no squire needed, he thought smugly. Then it was time to ride out and greet the audience. He could hear the announcer calling out the names of the contestants, and his heart leapt with nervousness. The first name announced, obviously, was that of the host's own son. Abrazimir Dimaethor. The crowd seemed to be cheering greatly for him. Would they cheer for him too?

Both he, and his horse wore the colors of the Talven household, green and maroon, rather than the Taurehebor colors, pine green, and brown. He held his head high as he emerged into the arena, acting not the least bit nervous or worried about this match. He tried not to let his father's words get to him. 'You don't have much chance at winning, you know.' Togg knew that his father just wanted to make sure their family was well represented, but he wished he would've at least refrained from that particular comment.

As he rode around the arena, he couldn't help noticing most of the ladies seemed more interested in his opponent than him. Well, while it was disappointing, it wasn't too surprising, since his father had never let him become known in any tournaments before. But maybe today would change things. There was one young lady, however, that knew of him. And he hoped that maybe she would be kind enough to offer him a favor. Since his stepbrother was out of the picture, he couldn't help entertaining some hopes, at least. Togg slowed his horse as he neared the box, where Azrain and her group of young ladies were gathered to witness the show. Ignoring his little sister sitting nearby, he focused his gaze on the young Lady Dimaethor. "My lady," He smiled at her and bowed slightly (as well as he could, from atop a horse in full armor).. "Would you consider allowing me the honor of carrying a token into battle?" Perhaps a bit audacious, considering it was her own brother he was competing against, but.. maybe she would take pity on him...

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Arrival evening - The Draw


Ziran had appreciated having the afternoon to rest while Macardil was in preparation mode for the joust. While she knew armor and battle, and had fought with armored horsemen, occasionally mounted herself, jousting was not her area of expertise. She knew enough to understand the rules of the list and some of the mechanics involved, but not how best to fit armor or strategize for when to bring his mount to a canter or where to aim to best take advantage of an opponent’s weaknesses. So she made no murmur of protest when he left to work with his squire. It did feel odd to feel like a distraction rather than a help, but she had read the look in his eyes that called for a focus, and did not take it personally in any way. She understood the desire for quiet focus.


When the time came for the master of the lists to draw names to fill in the tournament brackets, Ziran felt the evening had cooled enough with the lowering sun to retrieve her black dress cloak once more and drape it around her shoulders, but with the addition of a thin knotted scarf pinned to the left shoulder made of dark green velvet that was embroidered in silver with her initials. At the call of the trumpets, she and Silivren joined Macardil, Ruthor, and the beautiful black Night-shade for the walk to the arena. Ziran’s dark eyes lit at the sight of Macardil, noting his change of attire, but she maintained a calm facade other than a smile of encouragement as they walked the short distance. She clasped his hand in parting, and proceeded with Silivren to find seats with a good view.


Once they found a decent place, Ziran looked over the assembled competitors with a curious and assessing gaze. She knew only three of the eight, including Macardil, and was biased enough to think they looked the strongest competition on the field, but knew not to make hasty judgements. Nonetheless, she looked on with pride at Macardil’s demeanor during the proceedings and tried to block out the various comments she had the distinct displeasure of hearing.


When the names were announced and written down, and the shields shifted to show the heraldry of the competing pairs, Ziran looked on with interest. So he would first face this Bardaer of Ethring. She looked for the man with the matching colors and found no reason to be shaken in her confidence that the shield of Himhathol would advance to the second round. Indeed, she could cheer for her love and her friends equally in the first round, as none of them were listed to face each other quite yet.


Joust - Day 1


It had been a quiet morning of preparation filled with last minute tasks after a good breakfast. Ziran’s main task this day was to watch and show her support, so she took time to dress with care, even if the clothing was not what she would otherwise have found comfortable on a tournament day. Instead of the trousers and tunic covered shirt that was her norm, she once again wore a long white chemise embroidered at the cuffs and neckline with dark blue. The long tunic dress that went over it was of deep emerald green, but with an explosion of swirling vines and leaves of silver embroidered down the front, and around the hem, and embroidered wings of silver and blue over her shoulders. Braided ribbons of blue, green, and silver twined around her upper arms and then draped down from where they were tied above her elbow. She had taken a matching ribbon and stitched as trim on the scarf that she once again clasped to her shoulder before joining Silivren to walk to the arena.


They had first gone to the Himhathol pavilion to show their support and wish Macardil well. For some it would be for show, but Ziran was delighted to see her betrothed clad in his jousting armor for first time. “I know the tradition is to give tokens of favor just before the match, and while I would be delighted to come give your lance my blessing at that time, I would like to give you this to bear now, to show that it is not just for the match that you have my favor and my heart Macardil.” Removing the ribboned scarf from her shoulder, she tied it above his elbow and knotted it securely before meeting his eyes again with a slight smile on her lips. “I have every confidence in the strength of your honor and the steadiness of your aim. We will leave you to mentally prepare, and will cheer for you whatever may come.”


Ziran chose a seat just above where the young folks had gathered by the rail to the list grounds, wanting a good view, but not really having any desire to approach those near the top of the stands. Higher up had a better overall view, but down here she would be able to see more detail and feel the noise and impact of each clash. She cast a glance toward where the Himhathol pavilion stood at one end of the list, her eyes drawn by the flutter of the standard and wanting to catch a glimpse of Macardil once more. Just because. She may have just left him to Ruthor's capable assistance, but he was a magnet for her soul.


She watched several women and girls fling favors in Abrazimir’s direction and smiled quietly, wondering if he enjoyed the attention or felt uncomfortable with it. He didn’t seem inclined to ask for a favor from any one lady, and had no contact with them other than to call the one that Silivren had indicated was his sister over to him. She cast an assessing look at the young man who was his opponent in this match. Toggedir was likely capable enough, but he didn't have the years of combat experience that Abrazimir did, nor had he spent time with the Rangers, and she recognized him as being with the family that had spoken ill of her love. So that was settled. She would cheer for Abrazimir in this matchup, and would be happy to do so until he faced Macardil. She hoped they would be able to patch things up between them, but it didn’t hinder this particular rivalry.

[Arnyn]

|
Lord Macardil Himhathol | Lady Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1

Ruthor and the driver had set up the pavilion near the arena with the most ridiculous attention to detail. It seemed normal, for so were the others - but Macardil lived a simpler life in Minas Tirith and he could not help but be struck by the decadence of it all. From time to time.

He was wearing parts of his armor already, but not all of it. Not yet. He wanted to have freedom of mobility for as long as he could. Nevertheless, he did look the part by the time Silivren and Ziran arrived at the pavilion near the arena. Silivren was dressed in white and blue and grey, a clear show of pride in not only the Himhathol name but also in her son. He clasped her hand, grateful. They shared a silent look, and needed few words between them.

Silivren smiled, putting her other hand over his. "My son. I know you will make me proud today." It referenced to more than the joust, and Macardil paused before answering. It was both a statement of trust and support, and a reminder that it was important to keep his composure regardless of what people might throw at him.
"I will," he declared with a hint of a smile.

Ziran was dressed in white, dark blue, emerald green silver. The green was all her own, he knew, but she had coordinated the other colors well. He knew Ziran and Silivren had spoken about wardrobe beforehand. He did not doubt his mother's hand in this - although he felt that Ziran might have also chosen such a combination entirely of her own accord, even without his mother's advice.

Macardil watched her, quietly impressed by her very ladylike appearance, as she spoke and proceeded to tie her ribboned scarf above his elbow. With that focused gaze that he tended to use with her. He caught her hand before she could fully withdraw from tying the scarf, and touched the back of her hand to his forehead as he bowed to her. "Thank you, Ziran," he spoke quietly. "I will halt near you on the sands." It was a promise. She was loudly declaring her faith in him with the scarf already tied to his arm, and the statement would only be emboldened if she added a favor to it just before the tilt - for the whole crowd to see.

His startling blue eyes followed both of the ladies as they claimed their seats. Ziran's choice did not surprise him. Silivren had joined her, at least for now. This was good. At least Ziranphel would not be alone if anyone approached her. Some protection from the vipers' pit these affairs could sometimes turn into.

Ruthor and Macardil approached the railing closest to the Himhathol pavilion to watch the first match. For now, and with only part of his armor on, he still wore his axe at his belt. Not all jousters tended to watch other matches, he knew. Some preferred to enter a match unbiased - unintimidated or, on the opposite end, avoiding arrogance. Macardil, however, liked to gather all the information he could. There were dangers in it, yes. But were there not dangers in everything? And despite his abandonment of several habits of the nobility, he was not shy to admit that he actually did enjoy this particular sport. Macardil forgot about him precarious situation and his own concerns. His focus now lay elsewhere.

Abrazimir. The Dimaethor heir. On his own black-coloured steed. With his Swan helm. A faint smile mastered Macardil's face as he added his own brief shout of encouragement for the knight to that of the crowd. Abrazi still knew how to make an entrance, and many a lady seemed to agree. Macardil's smile broadened momentarily with some amusement, since he could very well guess the other man's embarrassment if he were to notice his 'success'.

Toggornir Talven. A newcomer to the lists, and not named as a lord. Macardil's focus left no room to remember the way the man's family had responded to him the day before. Instead, he noted the Talven colors, a very grateful distinction from those of House Dimaethor. It would not always be so clear-cut, here in Belfalas. He clapped briefly but assuredly for the young man. A first-timer could always use the support.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Joust - Day 1

While Pele had enjoyed company the previous evening she had been weary from travel and had excused herself when it seemed proper to check in with where and how Temper was situated, and then after a short walk along the sea had retired to accommodations allotted to her. The spacious room - rooms, even - had made her feel a little out of her depth; however, once left alone, she had eventually made herself comfortable. While she had experienced sleeping in a 'normal' bed at home, one in the barracks, a thin mat, bedroll, or even simply on the ground, the huge soft bed she had been offered made her feel like she was sleeping on a cloud.

The same bed was to blame for her having to make haste not to miss the joust - Pele could not remember when she had had such a long and uninterrupted sleep last. While she felt refreshed, it was not easy leaving the 'cloud' behind to start the day. Eventually she had donned the dress selected the evening before, the sky blue one with silver embroideries along the neckline and sleeves, and secured a dagger in an intricate sheath on a matching silvery belt.

Luckily, food was available everywhere, and Pele ate on the go as she made straight for the stands. Still finishing the last of the grapes she had in her hand, she looked around for any familiar faces and then joined Karis and Silivren. "Ladies," she greeted having to speak louder than was her custom to be heard over the noise.

She did not stare around the stands too much from where she was now situated and instead paid attention to the competitors. While Pele had considered initial pairings excellent since it would allow her to cheer for people she actually knew, she did not relish having to choose between any two known if they ended up set against each other.

As far as she could see Abrazimir had quite a crowd of female supporters all looking for attention, and with a merry glint in her eye Pele wondered if there would be certain fights going on between these behind the scenes. Arms crossed, she waited for the more obvious and announced competition to begin.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor,
Observing the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

With the strange ring grasped in her left palm, Azraindil returned to her bench between Dinalogassel and Dulinneth. She was momentarily removed from the conversation of her friends as she peered off onto the sands, far away in her own mind. Strange thing to ask of her on a joyous occasion such as this. Why a ring? Her friends seemed to be talking about her brother, Abrazimir, now. Something about his hair. Other jubilant calls were made as well, along a few flung favours from certain eligible women, but her brother remained focused on the task before him. Could Azraindil do any less? Dulinneth brought Azraindil back, inquiring about what Abrazimir had wanted. Looking down at her hand, she began to unfurl her fingers to reveal the gleaming trinket within.

A sigil ring, a small flat surface breaking up the perfect band to depict some sort of animal – a bear. The token of some House. Someone had lost it. And Abrazimir wanted Azraindil to find out who it was. A noble task, but…now? During the contest? Surely he meant later. It was a small distinction in meaning truthfully, but the oddity of it was quite gripping. Without looking at her friend, Azraindil’s eyes still facing towards the sands, she answered. ”He wanted me to find out who this belonged to-“ she started to explain, ready to show her friends, because they were her partners in everything, right?

But she was cut off by a new voice. Toggornir Talven. My lady. Would you consider allowing me the honor of carrying a token into battle? He requested of her. One oddity right after the other. While it was always a pleasing occasion to have a knight directly ask her for such a thing, there was no such thrill at it being Toggornir of all people. He was yet another man, the third, in a long list of suitors her parents were trying to thrust upon her. The death of the first and disappearance of the second had Azraindil thinking there was some sort of curse attached to her in regards such things. But she knew a little from Dulinneth that Toggornir was not a very good man. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the man discomforted her in some way. Left her being disquieted.

She realized she was staring impolitely, while the knight awaited her answer. She looked down at her lap, at her sleeves, as if in search of some token to give. She had a cloth made exactly for this purpose, colourful and patterned, with her family’s initials embroidered upon the corners. It was tucked up her sleeve. It was a tactic not to relinquish it so early in the lists, as some ladies rushed to do. Perhaps wait, at least until the next round, when the unlikely competitors had been washed out. She recalled her sister saying something about it. Now she was being made to give it up almost immediately.

”I am afraid I have no token to give besides my blessings and well wishes, Sir Talven.” Azraindil instead offered up with an apologetic smile. She felt bad at once…because she knew it was a lie. But unfortunately, another had seen, and already acted. Her father. Eager to push for new unions and alliances, the move by Toggornir was much appreciated by Lord Zâinabên, who lauded the traditional displays of chivalry and decorum. A servant was sent, with a similar favour possessed by Lady Orelnith.

”Lady Azraindil.” The servant interceded, offering up the cloth, in direct view of all.

”Oh. Oh.” Azraindil stammered, casting a horrified look towards Dulinneth, before having to swallow her hesitation and do the correct gestures expected of a proper Lady. She took the proffered cloth and rose, coming to the railing where she expected Toggornir to drift closer. ”Here, Sir. Along with my blessings and well wishes.” She stated, handing him the cloth. She knew not what to do exactly. She could tie it around the neck of his lance or, more intimately, around his wrist, but her cheeks were becoming flushed with colour when she realized the entire arena, her family, her people, were all watching and looking at her. Expecting things of her.

”Good luck.” She beckoned afterwards, returning to her seat, the ring still clutched in her palm but now properly forgetting that she had it at all. ”By the Valar, why would he ask me?” She exclaimed to Dulinneth, and Dinalogassel and Messerel by extension, in an exasperated whisper. ”This is a predicament, who do I cheer for now?” Her brother, no doubt. But she had given her token to another competitor. That was her word and hopes now, in almost literal form. It was starting to invoke a measure of competition in her somewhat.

---

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Competing in the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

As Abrazimir made his way to his designated station for the joust start, he concluded his rotation with a raised arm, hand clenched into a fist, a gesture of his will and wish to prevail and triumph. The crowd roared, but it washed over him like a breeze. While pleasing, it was never something he sought out, desiring neither fame nor repute, except for being known as an honest, straightforward man. It did not factor much into his mind of the cries of certain women who were spectating, though his following man-at-arms, Uirchanar, picked up some of the flung flavours, as he walked behind the mounted knight.

Abrazimir directed Sirdal into place, seeing that Toggornir had stopped to also speak to his sister. And request her favour? Well, it should not be very surprising, since the other man was now the forerunner in the Dimaethor’s father’s mind to one day take the hand of Lady Azraindil, to bring the two fiefs and Houses into alliance. It was probably expected for Toggornir to do so. It didn’t feel like something Abrazimir ought to take personally. He did not even seek out a favour directly from any of the eligible ladies himself.

”This is a nice one.” Uirchanar held up the cloth thrown by a certain Lady Telirien. ”The embroidery is exquisite.” He shuffled between the three or four he had collected in Abrazimir’s wake.

The mounted knight hoped it wouldn’t be an occurrence during every match. Someone who had a steady collection of those might come off as a scoundrel and a knave to some. Abrazimir considered that repute to be worse than drowning. ”Put those away.” Abrazimir muttered. ”I prefer to win and succeed before indulging in the spoils. It feels like trying to sneak a sunrise past a rooster.” He wanted to rub his eyes, but his hands were consumed by clutching his lance and his shield.

”Aptly put, milord.” Uirchanar replied drily. Both men waited and watched as Lady Azraindil handed off her favour to Toggornir, their opponent. Uirchanar turned and looked back up at Abrazimir. Meanwhile, as Toggornir could begin making his way to his own starting location across the sands, a groomsman of House Dimaethor in bright heraldry made his way to the center of the sands. Another servant hastily rushed out, carrying a large box which was placed for the herald to mount and stand upon, where he could be more clearly seen by all. They were about to begin!

”Ladies and Gentlemen, men and women of Gondor, your gracious hosts are pleased to present to you, your starting contest! In the blue and white, Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor. In the green and red, Sir Toggornir of House Talven! By the ancient laws of jousting and combat, as set by our sainted forefathers of Numenor, the contest shall persist, lance after lance, until one is either unhorsed or yields. Honourable contestants, at the trumpet’s call, if you please…!” And with that declared, the herald dismounted and moved swiftly off the sands, while a huffing servant clutched the box and equally retreated.

With Abrazimir and Toggornir both prepared, a trio of trumpeters raised their instruments to their lips. Three…two…one… They blew a single note. Begin!

Abrazimir felt his heart pounding in his chest and ears, but his body was long disciplined to the actions and policies of combat. He dug his booted heels into the core of his mount, urging it forward at a charging pace. He tucked his chin low to his chest, his shield raised upon his left to meet the oncoming thrust of Toggornir’s lance, while his own leveled towards the challenger, the butt-end tucked under his shoulder and arm. The horses raced along the center fence, plumes of sand kicking up from their onrush. The two knights drew closer and closer together, until they met with a great clash of splintered wood and renting armour.

Aiming for Toggornir’s upper shoulder, Abrazimir pushed and allowed the lance to glide up the other man’s armour and meet the cheekguard of his helm, striking the side of his head. Hoping, perhaps, that even if Toggornir could stay mounted, the resulting disorientation might cause him to collapse off his mount. As for Abrazimir, the very same would be inflicted upon him, a blackening explosion of pain and dizziness that rocked him, though by the same discipline of his body instinctively knowing the stance and posture of readiness, so too was his thighs able to clutch around his saddle, with the counter blow reeling him back, before he employed the core strength of his torso to pull him back upright in the saddle. He didn't know why either, but the rush of blood and sensation however painful...made him feel so alive. He even wanted to cheer and shout for no other reason than the excitement. He rode to the opposite end, where he was quickly handed another lance, and readied himself for the charge.

The crowd roared with approval at the initial clash. The musicians stood ready, instruments to their lips, ready to blow the next note to indicate the second tilt, the moment Toggornir obtained his replacement lance and seemed ready to charge again. If he could…

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Joust - Day 1


Ziran’s attention was pulled from where her gaze had once more strayed to the figure of Macardil across the sands as someone sat next to her, and the familiar voice that accompanied the flash of sky blue skirts as they settled had her grinning as she turned. “Pele! I wasn’t expecting to see you here, welcome!” She exclaimed with delighted surprise as her eyes lit at the sight of her friend and captain, who was already surveying the crowd and competitors with crossed arms. It both amused her and brought a refreshing breath in the midst of this crowd of formerly demure ladies to see her assessing gaze and strong body language. Her swift glance did not miss that Pele had chosen to wear a dagger on her belt as well despite the very nice dress.

It took a brief moment of reflection while also watching some of the drama unfold along the rail below before she realized her manners. “Forgive me, but I don’t know if you two have officially met before.” She leaned back slightly and turned towards Silivren to include her and indicated Pele. “This is my friend and the current Commander of the Rangers, Captain Pele Alarion.” Another slight shift had her holding out her other hand as she shifted her attention. “Pele, this is Lady Silivren Himhathol, Macardil’s mother”

They were interrupted by the herald announcing the tilt was about to commence, and Ziran quickly turned her attention to the list. There was a brief flurry of preparation, a steadying of mounts, a brief pause, the ringing of the trumpets swiftly followed by the thunder of hooves and the crash of lance against armor, and then the reeling men were past. Ziran blew out the breath that she had sucked in unconsciously at the moment of impact, and looked at them each in turn. They had both survived the first clash. Would they continue? She expected they both would, but if this were indeed the Talven lordling’s first official joust it might play out in unexpected ways.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth
Azraindil's box

As her friend opened her hand to show her what it was that Abrazimir had asked of her, Dulinneth glanced curiously at the little object in her palm. Tilting her head, she stared at the ring with intrigue. Before she had a chance to inquire more about it, she heard Tog speaking. Addressing Gaer. She glanced up and barely refrained from frowning at him. Did he really think Gaer would be at all interested in him? She held back a sigh, wishing Anurion would return so Toggornir would give up on whatever hopes he had about marrying Gaer. As her friend was put on the spot, Linn struggled to keep her expression from showing her annoyance.

After he had finally went on his way, having obtained a favor from Gaerlothriel, Dulinneth rolled her eyes slightly and turned back to Gaer. She had seen the look if horror on Gaer's face, and offered a sympathetic one back to her once Tog had left. "Really, I have no idea," She answered with a sigh, inwardly wishing it was him who had vanished, instead of Anurion. "Well, I'm sure I'm supposed to cheer for him, but I'm not going to." She declared, quietly so that her words would hopefully not carry beyond those sitting right next to her. "And I don't know why he would think it was alright to put you in such a predicament, he's so thoughtless, really." That said, she watched him ride around the ring to take his position before the joust would begin. He looked so smug, she wanted to roll her eyes.

Turning her attention back to the ring in Gaer's hand after her friend had returned to her seat, Dulinneth lightly poked her fist in hopes of getting a better look at it. "May I?" She asked, checking with Gaer before taking the ring to examine it more closely. Her eyes grew wider as she saw the design on it. Was that the ring she thought it was? Could it be? Suddenly a million questions were racing through her mind, and she wanted to ask Gaer's brother all of them. Right now. But she couldn't. Trying to get a grip on her patience, the girl studied the ring thoughtfully as she thought back, trying to remember something. After a moment of careful recollection, she felt sure. Yes, she had seen this ring before.

Turning back to Gaer, Dulinneth was about to say something when the herald interrupted, announcing the start of the round. Looking up with eager anticipation, Linn held tight to the ring. Though her attention was on the sands, her thoughts lingered on it as she watched her brother, and Gaer's brother, ride swiftly toward each other. Her breath caught in her throat, and when the moment of impact came, she cringed slightly and glanced hastily toward both of them, to see what happened...

---

Toggornir Talven
In the Arena, competing against Abrazimir Dimaethor

The reply that came was not what he had hoped. While he managed to keep his disappointment from showing on his face, Toggornir couldn't help being rather disappointed to hear that she had no favor to offer. Was she just offering a polite excuse, or did she really not even think to bring anything? He hardly had time to ponder on this, however, before the problem was solved. Feeling slightly smug, a smile spread over his face as he moved closer to accept the favor. His thoughts flashed briefly back to another tournament some years ago, when Aearonor had competed for the first time, and had also requested a favor from the youngest lady Dimaethor. He seemed to recall she had given it to him without hesitation, but then it was hard to tell when watching from the sidelines.

His gaze flicked briefly up to where his father was watching from one of the boxes, wondering whether he might be able to see whether he was displeased, or approved, or what.. but swiftly returned his attention back toward Gaer, watching her tie the cloth onto his lance. "Thank you, my lady," He answered her with a polite bow, a little overdramatized perhaps. But he was very pleased that she had agreed to give him the favor, and that made him feel a bit triumphant already. Now carrying the favor of Lady Azraindil and her 'blessings', Toggornir waved to her, and as an afterthought, included his little sister in the waving, as well. Not that he cared much for her, as he mostly found her an annoyance he'd rather avoid, but it might look better on him if it appeared they got along. Besides, the fact she was very close friends with Gaer, made it slightly easier for him to get chances to talk to the latter.

Once back on his end of the arena, Tog's heartbeat sped up slightly with anticipation of what was about to happen. Placing his helmet on his head, he secured the straps and then grabbed up his shield from where it had hung from the saddle. He took a few deep breaths as he took a moment to get everything properly situated. Despite having argued with his father about how he was ready to compete in this tournament, he was suddenly very nervous, and hoping he would do well. Because, well it wasn't the same as practicing at home against trainers, nor against his stepbrothers. This was more real, and everyone was watching.

The trumpets sounded. He mentally pushed away the wave of doubt as well as he could manage and with a kick of his heels, his horse was charging. The hoofbeats pounded in his ears. His lance aimed for Abrazimir's torso, Tog braced for the impact while raising his shield to try and deflect as much of it as he could from himself. Despite the shield, the jolt of his opponent's lance clashing against his shield was more powerful than he was used to from practice runs at home, and almost knocked him off his horse. Almost.

While his upper body was forced backward, and slightly to the side, he only just managed to cling onto his horse with just his legs, and had to shake his head a little to clear away the stars that invaded his vision. While his shield had caught most of the force from the collision, Abrazimir's lance had slid up and off the edge of the shield, catching him on the side of the head. His helmet had spared him most of the impact, but still... it took him a moment to recover his wits and struggle back up into an upright position. His left arm still seemed to feel the vibrations from the impact, and he had no idea whether his own lance had done much good, as he hadn't been able to see much after the collision.

It took him another second or two to get himself re-oriented with his surroundings, then turned his horse to trot back over to the appropriate end of the arena. And suddenly, to his surprise, he saw that Maerdor, the stableman who had accompanied them from home, was standing there with a fresh lance in hand, waiting to hand it off to him. Tog blinked. This was unexpected, but also not unwelcome. Grabbing the new lance, and passing off the now-damaged one, he raised the face shield of his helmet. "Save that favor, it came from Lady Azraindil." He ordered the man, before lowering the face shield again. The side of his helmet felt slightly dented, but not so much as to bother his head. It did, however, make the face shield stick a little on one side. Oh well, he'd get it fixed later. His shield was also dented and bore an ugly scratch from where Abrazimir's lance had struck and slid, leaving a scar on the shield. Better it than himself, though.

Now, for the second tilt. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts and nerves. Now that he knew how forceful the blow would be, he hoped that would make him more prepared for it this time. Once the signal was given, Tog kicked his heels, and his horse took off charging again. Tog's lance was aimed to strike at the other man's shoulder, while trying to fix the position of his shield to better protect his head this time around.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel @Pele Alarion @Lantaelen @Rillewen

|
Lord Macardil Himhathol | Lady Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1

Silivren gave Pele a polite and friendly nod, hiding her curiosity with the practiced ease of many years. "Good day, my lady," she replied smoothly while Pele took a seat on Karis' other side. Karis' greeting told her the woman's name was Pele, and while it sounded familiar, Silivren could not quite pinpoint where she had heard it before.

When Toggirnir Talven came to request Azraindil's favor, Silivren looked on quietly. The poor girl had been promised first to one Taurhebor, then another - and now, it seemed, the Dimaethors were angling to promise her to Toggornir. The situation of the oldest Taurhebor's death and the younger's disappearance could not be helped, of course. Anurion Taurhebor was almost assumed dead by the noble families, excepting perhaps only his close relatives, who were still holding onto hope. Silivren knew how these things worked. Yet it would have been better to secure an actual Taurhebor, instead of a Talven. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly as she watched the scene and wondered to what extent the Talven men shared the hopes of Anurion's mother and sister.

Karis seemed to remember the expectation of introductions, then. Interested and polite, she nodded at the woman whom she was told was Karis' friend - as well as the Captain of the Rangers. It clicked. Of course. Pele Alarion, in charge of the Rangers in Minas Tirith. Macardil had met with her, months ago. Silivren remembered well how grateful he had been to still be allowed entrance to the training grounds just outside of the City. Such a surprise, to see the Ranger Captain, here. And dressed in such fine skirts. Why had she come? An honest smile came to Silivren's entire expression, but the start of the tilt below prevented her from saying anything as of yet. She gave Pele a nod, as a promise for more to come.

Macardil was not watching the stands when Pele sat down next to his betrothed. If he had been, he would have been glad indeed - especially if he'd been able to recognize the Ranger Captain from this distance, which was a bit doubtful given the unexpectedness of her presence and the stark difference between the attire he was used to seeing her wear and the dress she wore this day. Yet, as his attention was focused on the competitors, the point was moot.

Instead, he smiled grimly and clapped when Abrazimir raised his clenched fist the way he did. It made something stir within. The longing to mount Night-shade and have her walk onto the sands. Holding the shield and the lance. The thunder of hooves and the lances' impact. The lightning that sometimes exploded in your head when your opponent's lance hit you the wrong way. Whatever reaction the crowd might have, good or bad - it almost did not even matter. He simply wanted to compete. Feel the thrill of the challenge. The rush of speeding toward his opponent.

Macardil pulled himself from the future, when it would be his turn, back to the present. Abrazimir did not pay the ladies' tokens much if any attention, despite the efforts of the ladies themselves, and indeed Dimaethor's man-at-arms who was squiring for the knight. Nay. Abrazimir had not even sought out any of the ladies' favors.
Macardil understood this well enough. Since the sadness of Mellaurel's passing, he hadn't done so either. His blue gaze did return to Ziranphel now. For the first time in many years... And the last time had been...

No. This was far from the time. Focus, you fool. Back to the sands. Back to the challenge these two riders now faced, as they prepared themselved to set off toward one another. Back to his own challenge, which would come soon enough.

The herald made his announcement. The trumpet sounded loud and clear. The horses were off. Macardil leaned his forearms on the railing, leaning forward just a bit more when the two clashed.

He did not wince upon impact. Rather he kept his eyes open, in close observation. Or as closely as one could from behind the wooden rail and with the speed of events unfolding before their eyes. The clash had been a rough one, more so for Toggornir than Abrazimir. Yet Toggornir remained in his saddle.

After a moment to process what he had seen, Macardil straightened. Next to him, Ruthor seemed to be brimming over with held-back excitement. Soon, the two men charged once more. "Come now, Abrazimir," Macardil mumbled under his breath. If he was so lucky to advance far enough - Macardil knew whom he wanted to face.

[Lantaelen]

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Competing in the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Powerful reverberations shuddered through Abrazimir’s shield arm, leaving it momentarily stunned as he rode through the hit. Both riders managed to stay horsed, surviving the first tilt and contest. Abrazimir rounded the opposite end of the arena and galloped back to his own station, casting only a glance at Toggornir as they passed. Only a silent challenge. He felt his own heart pounding in his chest, a combination of nervousness and excitement. The only cure? Getting back out there. Uirchanar handed him another blue-and-white hued lance and knight and steed were hurriedly back in position.

The trumpeters had their instruments at the ready and the single-note tune was blasted again, heralding the second tilt of this joust.

This time, Abrazimir’s blood was up, not only urging his mount forward with his heels but shouting in command to do so as well. The thrill had him feeling primal, both mind and body united in a single state to prevailing in this joust. Sirdal now in an onrush, Abrazimir leveled his lance, tucked his chin, and willed his benumbed shield arm into place as he raced towards Toggornir. This time, he changed it up, aiming for the upper-left corner of Toggornir’s shield, hoping to dislodge him with a clean sweep of power that would twist and throw him from the saddle.

The lances struck with a shatter of timber and the crowd’s roar, along with a few gasps from a few patrons not quite used to the clash of wood and metal. Abrazimir felt the explosive energy wrack his entire body, by instinct having his thighs clench around his horse’s bulk to clutch and maintain on top. He reeled back, then willed himself forward, leaning heavy over Sirdal’s neck. He caught his breath and managed a full inhale, and exhale, seeing the sand race beneath his horse’s hooves, before he up righted himself. No time to bask in the success of simple survival. Or the crowd’s approval. He wheeled his mount and went back to his station for another. If there be another.

---

Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor,
Observing the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Well, I’m sure I’m supposed to cheer for him, but I’m not going to. It sounded so rude, so brash. And yet Azraindil turned to give her friend a look, then smiled conspiratorially. Yes, she might just do the same. Who was really watching the crowd? Most of them, the ones they knew anyhow, were all behind the front row of them. ”It isn’t my real favour, so no harm done, really.” She pointed out to Dulinneth, eyes drifting more to her own brother. She didn’t quite have thoughts of hope or triumph for Abrazimir either. Yet she had something for him in lieu of there being none for his competitor. She was worried some hurt or harm might befall him. All sorts of accidents could happen at these jousts and duels, right?

She was far too immersed in the dreadful anticipation of the coming clash that she completely forgot her brother’s task for a moment. Dulinneth startled her by asking if she might see the ring, to which Azraindil opened her fist to reveal the gold ring. ”Looks like there’s a tree and some axes on it. My brother said someone lost it - dropped it maybe?” She couldn’t add whether it had been lost here, during this event, or picked up elsewhere. Her brother had said nothing about it. Only that it was lost. Well, her, Linny, Dina, and Mess could make for some great sleuthing later. An excuse to tour the grounds, too. See some excitements. Maybe see bird boys again.

Azraindil didn’t quite catch Dulinneth’s silent reaction to the object, not yet knowing it had some special meaning to her friend. The herald was speaking and the joust was finally set to begin. The trumpets were blown and the crowd were paralyzed by the moment, as the two competitors raced towards one another, lances lowered. There was a great crash as both struck solid, wood splinters bursting apart, and both knights dangerously lolling in their saddles, before they both seemed to recover. Azraindil let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

”And they’re going to do it again?” She exclaimed to her friends. ”What is the sense or joy in knocking each other silly like this?” She couldn’t quite fathom it, contrasting sharply with Abrazimir’s singular minded focus on doing just that. The two men charged yet again at each other. Surely this couldn’t go on for many, many rounds, right?

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth, Dinalogassel, & Meressel
Azraindil's box

Dulinneth grinned at Gaer. "Yes, no one will notice, I'm sure. Togg will be so focused on trying to win the match, he probably won't have time to even glance over here." She assured her. Let him think whatever he liked. He ought to have known Gaer would probably be cheering for her brother. As she watched them ride away from each other, she held her breath for a moment until she saw both of them sit upright once again.

"Wow, that looked horribly rough!" Meressel commented with slight amazement. "They are doing it again! Why in the world would they want to do that again? Are they trying to seriously injure each other?" She wondered.

"I think they'll keep going until one of them is knocked off.. or knocked out." Dina replied quietly. "That's what I heard someone say, anyway." She couldn't help wondering whether anyone might become badly injured, now that she saw how violent the competition could be.

"I'm surprised your brother is giving it another try, Dulinneth. It looked like he was nearly knocked out that time." Meressel commented, watching them both prepare to charge again.

"Yes, well... he's stubborn," Linn replied, shrugging. She was half listening, distracted by Gaer's mentioning that the ring had been lost.. perhaps dropped by someone. Here? She turned the ring over thoughtfully, then looked up and scanned the crowd, suddenly wondering. Could he be here? The only person she could think of who would have -could have- dropped this particular ring...She had told him about the upcoming joust in her last letter, but she had gotten the impression from his reply that he would not be coming. Yet... as far as she knew, this ring should have been with him. Would she even know what he looked like, anymore? Would she recognize him, if she saw him?

The clash of the second pass made her cringe a little, but Dulinneth wasn't watching them anymore. Her attention was wholly on the crowd now, trying to catch a glimpse of a face she hoped would still be familiar to her. Forgetting to even return the ring to Gaer's keeping, she held it clenched tight in her hand as she leaned on the railing. And ignored her mother's voice, calling down to her to be careful and not get so close to the rail.

Thinking of this contest being so rough made Dina think of others which would not be so violent. "Oh, Gaer," Dina spoke up during the lull between the competitor's passes, "When do you think the archery contest will happen? I'd very much like to see that." She mentioned, thoughtful. She used to have a small bow she used back in her childhood days living in the Rohirric prairie, but she was sure that she no longer remembered how to use one. Still, it interested her to watch it and see who would win the contest. "It would have been fun to participate in something, but I'm not even sure what sort of things I could do, really."

---

Toggornir Talven
In the Arena, competing against Abrazimir Dimaethor

The first pass had been harsh, but now he knew what to expect. Or so he thought. After getting his horse to charge forward a second time, Toggornir tried to brace himself for the impact. Yet, it was as if Abrazimir had gained even more force and violence, this time around. He felt the lance slam into his shield, which then slammed into him. The rim of his shield had struck against his helmet, in almost the same spot where Abrazimir's lance had hit him on the last tilt.

Togg felt as if the air had been forced out of his lungs. His exclamation of pain at the moment of collision was thankfully drowned out by the thunder of hooves, and crowd's applause. He reeled sideways, momentarily dazed from the blow, and it took him a moment to realize he was actually in danger of falling off. He couldn't let that happen! Frantically, he struggled to grab onto the horse's mane or saddle or something so he might pull himself upright again. His arm felt both numb and painful at once, and he was worried it might be injured but didn't take the time to think about that right now. It was just bruised, he told himself, clinging there for a moment as he felt like he was only hanging on by one hand, before trying to right himself in the saddle. He groaned slightly as he dragged himself back upright, glad that no one could see the grimace on his face right now, thanks to his helmet.

He turned his horse toward the station designated for him, and briefly closed his eyes behind the visor, taking a few slow breaths while his horse carried him toward a brief respite. Opening them again, he glanced toward his opponent as they passed one another. Though neither could see the other's face properly, he was privately marveling at how much force the other man had put into the blow. Would the next be even stronger? His eyes narrowed slightly, his resolve strengthening as he urged his horse toward the station where Maerdor awaited with a new lance. He wasn't going to give up no matter how much his arm hurt, and maybe by some miracle, through perseverance, he might actually win. And prove his father wrong. That would be icing on the cake, he thought with a smirk, and glanced briefly toward where his father was seated with Lord Dimaethor, and a few other lords. He was watching intently, Tog noticed, and wondered what he might be thinking.

Swapping his shattered lance for a new one that Maerdor handed him, Togg took a moment to investigate whether he could properly use his shield arm. Flexing his fingers, closing his hand into a fist. He angled his arm this way and that, and determined that it was not broken, thank goodness. He huffed out a breath of relief and hoped it would remain that way after this next pass. After getting his shield back in place, he lowered his visor again and readied his lance, waiting for the signal for the third pass. His gaze focused on his opponent across the sands, trying to keep his attention wholly on the competition.

[Lantaelen]

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Competing in the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

By now, the process was routine. Abrazimir rounded his mount and Uirchanar had the next lance prepared. The knight took hold and prepared himself for the next tilt, just as Toggornir would be doing so as well. The boy was good at this. The trumpeters lifted their instruments and there was hardly any more delay. The note was sung and the crowd roared as the two knights rushed for the next clash. Lance lowered, shield arm raised, and heels digging into the bulk of his steed, Abrazimir rushed onwards yet again. Just how much more was left in the other knight? How much more could Abrazimir himself take?

He had no thought or care for the crowd. Did not care if they shouted adulations towards him or wished for his failure. Volume and noise were but distractions. Focus was the key to victory. Both his arms were starting to ache but Abrazimir willed the distraction from his mind. Together, as one, man and horse charged along the central fence towards his foe. This time he was going to aim for dead center – the chest.

The two competitors came at each other in mere seconds after the trumpet calls. Both knights collided again with the clash and splinter of lance against shield or armour. Once more the explosive power of the blow shocked through Abrazimir’s system, but by the third tilt he had some inkling of what to expect, his body already instinctively latching and clutching to remain upon his horse, using his core strength to heave his upper torso against the momentum of the oncoming strike. Once more, he managed to stay horsed, tossing his shattered lance aside as he rounded the far edge of the fence and prepared to ride back to his station. Only then would he see the result of his assault upon the other.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Toggornir Talven
In the Arena, competing against Abrazimir Dimaethor

The trumpet blew again a little quicker than he anticipated. Gripping the fresh lance tucked under one arm, secured in the lance rest, he kicked his heels into the horse's sides. He didn't have a chance to survey the crowd, instead focusing his gaze on his opponent. He wanted to win, but could he handle much more of this battering? It was far rougher than he was used to from practice at home, and he was quite sure he would be very sore tomorrow.

The pounding of hooves filled his ears. He narrowed his eyes, blinking as he rode toward his opponent. Visibility through his visor wasn't very great, and he'd had it on for a while now. With the sun beating down on the metal helmet, it felt like having his head in an oven. He had no way of wiping the sweat from his brow, and it was running into his eyes by now. Closer and closer they came. Tog was suddenly nervous about how hard the other lance was going to hit him, but that didn't sway him from persisting in his attempt to win. He tried to point his lance toward Abrazimir's chest, although it dipped a little lower. Togg was so focused on trying the aim of his lance, he didn't notice that his shield had sunk a little lower than it should have been, due to his arm being a so battered from the last two passes.

The clash seemed louder than thunder. He took the lance square in the chest. Despite the thick armor, it was a hard blow. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he was dimly aware of being forced backward, his back slamming hard against what he thought was the backside of his horse. The thundering hoofbeats faded from his ears a bit, and he couldn't figure out why for a moment. Maybe he was about to pass out? No, have to stay on the horse, he told himself, coughing a little as he found it painful to take a breath. His chest ached a little from that vicious blow, but he struggled to try and sit up again, and instead felt a bit stuck like he was. Like a turtle on its back. Reaching out a hand to grab onto the horse, intending to pull himself up as he had done before, Togg became a little confused. Instead of finding the saddle or any part of the horse under his hand, his hand pressed down on sand. Turning his head to one side, he found his view composed of mostly sand on one side, the fence posts making up the tilt divider rising up from it. Beyond that, the spectators, and above them, on the other side of his view, the sky.

No! He'd been knocked off his horse! Togg muttered a curse under his breath as he realized he was on the ground. Groaning as he slowly rolled onto his side, he paused briefly before he pushed himself up onto his knees on the sand, then glanced around. His horse had run on a little way without him and was now standing around as if unsure what to do. He saw that Maerdor had already come out to retrieve the errant horse, so he needn't bother with that. Gritting his teeth in annoyance that he had lost, Togg grabbed the rail that divided the competitors and used it to help him get to his feet. It was a bit difficult, considering the heavy armor weighing him down, but he managed. Thankfully, no one could see the disappointed and annoyed look on his face, due to his helmet.

---

Spectators


Dulinneth, & others
in the Gaerlothriel's box

Dulinneth had been focused on scanning the crowds when she heard the collision for a third time. Hardly any time seemed to have passed since the last one. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched her half-brother flip off the back of his horse and land on his back on the sand. Ouch! Dina and Mere had begun cheering, as well as the boys who had joined them in Gaer's box. Linn hesitated on cheering however, just long enough to see Togg stir. Then she breathed out a sigh of relief and grinned, clapping for Abrazimir. A second later, she quickly cast a glance back toward where her mother was seated with the other ladies, and another glance toward the men, where her father was sitting. Neither were paying attention to her, as usual. She refrained from cheering verbally, lest she draw their attention by her voice, but she clapped loudly and enthusiastically, applauding the guy who had put her brother in his place, so to speak. "Your brother won!" She couldn't help grinning as she turned to Gaer happily. "Good for him!"

---

Duvaineth
(with the ladies)

In another part of the stands, Duvaineth caught her breath each time her stepson made a pass. The first two times, he recovered, and she breathed a little easier. A part of her couldn't help thinking that her own sons, especially Aearonor, would have been doing far better at this. But she kept those thoughts to herself. She might have said something of the sort to Orelnith, if they had been alone, but there were others with them. Watching the third pass, as Toggornir was knocked backward off of his horse, she brought a gloved hand up to her mouth, wincing in sympathy for the young man as he was knocked forcibly off of his horse. That blow looked rather painful, and she leaned forward anxiously until he began to sit up. She let out a sigh of relief, and sat back in her seat. Next up would be her husband, she realized, and she would go through all of this again, watching him compete.

---

Torthon
(with the other noblemen)

Torthon had been chatting with the others until the match began. And then, he was focused on his son. Willing him to do well, hoping he would not be hurt. At one point he thought he saw the young man glance toward him, but it was so quick he wasn't sure, and didn't have time to react in any way. Each pass seemed to get more brutal, he noticed, and frowned as he watched Togg checking his shield arm. Was he hurt? Before he could tell anything in that regard, the two were charging toward each other once again, for the third time. And then, he held his breath as the younger of the two was knocked clear off his horse, and lay still for a moment on the ground. Torthon leaned forward on the rail, watching his son intently. "Get up.." he muttered, anxious. "Get up.." Then after what felt like way too many heartbeats, Togg began to sit up, and Torthon relaxed.

His match was next. Excusing himself from the company of the other noblemen, he made his way down to where he would finish donning his armor, trusting that Maerdor would fetch his horse. And hopefully, Toggornir would be ready to act as squire for him by the time the next match began.

---

Trevadir
(down among the commoners)

Watching from the sidelines with the regular folks, Trev couldn't quite believe that people would actually do this for fun. Ride full speed at someone else doing the same, point a big stick at them, and try to knock them off a horse? That just seemed like asking for serious injuries, right? He could definitely think of better ways to have fun, and shook his head slightly as he watched the two armored horsemen charge at each other, again. And again. And then again!

The last time was a bit more spectacular, however. From where he was standing, Trev had a pretty good view as the younger guy took the lance straight to the chest. He watched as the guy was knocked backward, flipped over the back of his horse, and landed flat on his back. A nice flip, Trev thought with slight amusement, even if it was unintentional. The crowd was roaring, but Trev was wondering if the other guy was in need of a healer when he started getting up. Well, at least no one died...

Trev clapped lightly for the winner, but really wasn't sure whether who he ought to cheer for. He didn't know the young guy who'd lost, and so far he had only bad experiences with Abrazimir, but maybe he wasn't such a bad guy. Maybe it was just the company Trev had been in during the various times he'd encountered the knight. He glanced around, wondering if that was the end or if there was any more of this sort of thing in store for today.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Joust - Day 1

Meeting Ziran's glance, Pele smiled back, her eyes reflecting a small measure of merriment. "Suppose I did not advertise my coming here overly much," she said, attempting to be heard over all the other noises. While she had not been too much in awe of heading for somewhere filled with a multitude of people, she had hopes that getting out of her usual environment might help her find more rest, discover some joy of living, a way to find herself again.

"My pleasure to meet you," she responded when she found out that the other lady was Macardil's mother. Pele would have liked to exchange some words with her, but it became clear that this was not the right moment for it. The noise became even louder, and she turned her attention to the competition.

As she watched the two men ride for each other at full speed and the subsequent clash of their weapons against each other, Pele winced and secretly was glad that she had not signed up for this competition. While she did train hard and also could be somewhat merciless to Rangers training with her - if the situation required and for a short time - this looked very painful, armour or no.

"Hopefully they have a way to soothe all those bruises when they have finished this..." she commented, not sure whether Karis and Silivren heard her. It appeared that both competitors were still 'battle-ready' even though they looked rather shaken. Pele leaned forward a little to watch, wondering how many rides it would take for one of them to be done away with. Not the second time yet, she soon learned. The third time turned out to be lucky for Abrazimir with his opponent hitting the ground. Pele winced again and had to make herself stay still instead of a wish to leave her place and make haste to check on the downed guy's wellbeing. She was not here to play a healer, she reminded herself, and in what was likely to be a rather unladylike manner whistled and clapped her approval of Abrazimir's victory.

[Arnyn]

Lord Macardil Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1

Macardil felt a certain appreciation blooming for the first-timer after Toggornir make it through the second pass as well. That was not a given against a seasoned jouster like Abrazimir Dimaethor, who was not having the 'easy' time one might have expected. While the younger man had almost fallen from the saddle after that second collision, he had not. Mhmm. Grit. Macardil would definitely give the younger Talven that much. He did appear to have hurt his arm to some extent, from the way he was testing its range of movement. Meanwhile, Abrazimir merely accepted his next lance and waited for the signal that heralded the next pass.

He blew out his indrawn breath through slightly pursed lips, his brows pulling closer together at the sight of Toggornir flipping back over his horse and onto the sands of the arena. Macardil had been there. All jousters had been or would be there at some point, more often than not more than just a few times. He knew what that felt like. His blue eyes watched the young man roll over onto his side, then use the tilt to help himself to his feet. "Well done!" Macardil's deep voice joined the cheers of the crowd, surely drowning it out for the most part. His praise was meant for both competitors, and he clapped for a good first match of the session.

A knowing smile played about his features. Not just yet, but soon. Soon, it would be his turn to feel the rush of sending his horse along the tilt, to suffer the strike of his opponent's lance and see if his body and mind could both withstand it. And one of his favorite opponents was still in the game.

[Lantaelen]

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Competing in the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Abrazimir was still reeling from the shock and pain of having taken Toggornir’s oncoming lance strike. Certainly too disorientated in the first few seconds after the exchange to notice the swell in the crowd’s roar and applause. Only when he steered his mount around the opposite end of the divider fence that he beheld the end-result. Toggornir had been unhorsed by his strike, prone in the sands. His horse meandered nearby. The poor knight was trying to rise, struggling to find footing in the sands as well as his own disorientation from Abrazimir’s strike. The Swan-Knight was victorious.

A foolish grin spread across his lips, though it was concealed by the black mask that he wore over his mouth and nose, leaving only his eyes visible. Wheeling his horse, he began a victory circuit back around the fence, coming first to where Toggornir lay and giving the man a nod. ”Thank you for performing so modestly against me.” He said humbly at first, or trying to be, in implying that Toggornir could have done so much more and it would be Abrazimir who would have been in the sands. ”You are well?” He asked about the man’s condition and health next. Just a nasty blow and fall, nothing more. Hopefully. Splinters of sharp wood could sometimes find their way into the soft spots of one’s armour, piercing flesh and vein. No one wanted to see that done, Abrazimir least of all. They might be opposing competitors, but they were still countrymen, yes?

With his downed opponent’s health no longer a concern, Abrazimir finished his circuit by coming before the main stand and box, where his family and friends were. Azraindil and her impressive retinue in the front, with his friends behind, Pele Alarion and the others, with his parents and their contemporaries near the top. His father, center and foremost, upon the highest bench. Abrazimir pulled his mask down, removed his Swan-helm with the silver wings to hand off to Uirchanar who came to his side, and straightened to his full height in his saddle, before delivering a low bow and a sweep of his hand from his temple to the ground in a courteous gesture of gratitude to the crowd and his kin. Thank you.

The herald pronounced it as he did so. ”Ladies and Gentlemen, men and women of Gondor, your winner of the first joust, Sir Abrazimir Dimaethor, son of the Lord Zâinabên! …six, seven, eight, nine seconds… That was plenty enough to bask in the adoration and spotlight of the moment. Abrazimir drew himself in and proceeded to the station where he began, while the great board showcasing the tournament and various competitors was edited to show his name advancing to the next round. He was done for the day, and gladly so.

He would see his horse stabled for the remainder of the day, with well deserved rewards of good hay and water. He would disarm and remove his armour and adorn himself in something more suitable as son of the host and a lord amongst Gondor, and then return to the arena as a spectator.

---

Lady Azraindil of House Dimaethor,
Observing the joust, Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age

Again, and again. The siblings of Azraindil and Dulinneth proceeded to charge headlong at one another, seemingly with no other intent to be impaled by their competitor’s lance. A reckless, almost foolhardly game. And that’s exactly what it was. A game. A terrifying, reckless game. Azraindil could hardly believe risking hurt, injury, even death, just to showboat and garner applause was so desirable to the menfolk of her Realm. Dina was indeed right. It wouldn’t end until one of them was knocked off. Or knocked out. Or worse. But she didn’t want to think about that.

I’m surprised your brother is giving it another try, Dulinneth. It looked like he was nearly knocked out that time.

Yes, well… he’s stubborn.

”One of them needs to stop.” Azraindil commented, though she didn’t say who exactly should stop. Toggornir of course, given how he swayed and lolled in the saddle after each blow, yet her own brother seemed to swing himself right back into place. The second pass was just as savage as the first, an explosion of wood splinters and staggered knights. And they were lining up for a third. And maybe a fourth after that. And a fifth. And-

Oh, Gaer, when do you think the archery contest will happen? I’d very much like to see that.

”Mhm. I think the secondary contests like that, and horse racing, is going to happen after the joust. Might be after the finals, which is going to be hosted two days from now.” She recalled on her memory of the scheduling her father discussed and mentioned. That was certainly more enjoyable. Less of a stigma too if women participated in the archery contest. And nobody got hurt. On purpose.

The third tilt was up though. At the trumpet’s call, the crowd seemed to hold it’s collective breath as the two knights charged at one another. Azraindil at least managed to withhold her gasp of fright, though she still jerked and flinched in her seat when the two knights collided in an explosion of shards and splinters. And finally, a knock-out blow. Toggornir fell off his horse, while Abrazimir rode on to survive…and prevail. He…won? He won! Azraindil instinctively was up on her feet, a moment of concern for her brother’s health passing before she was able to smile. And when Toggornir shifted in the sands, indicating he was healthy is not unhurt, she finally laughed and clapped her hands. Abrazimir, her brother, had won!

And so what if the competitor carrying Azraindil’s favour had lost? It wasn’t her real favour anyways.

Your brother won! Good for him! ”He won! And he’s safe.” She pointed out in reply. ”They’re both safe. And alright.” She quickly added, not wanting to seem one-sided against Toggornir. The man just had some air about him that Azraindil didn’t like. She sat down as her brother rode before them and gave them and the crowd a bow. ”Abrazimir!” Azraindil shouted as she applauded very loudly and beamed. But her brother barely had time or attention for the crowd, seemingly riding away at the next instant. The crowd calmed down, tongues wagging in appreciation, and the odd critique, of the joust they just witnessed.

Now it was time for round two of the joust. There would be a short interval while the competitors were readied. A time for refreshments to be nabbed as well, from the various food and drink vendors around the arena grounds. When the competitors were confirmed to be ready, the signal was given to return to one’s seat and prepare. The trumpeters and herald could have a sip of water to relax their throats, but soon the latter was back out on the sands, with his devoted servant heaving the box for the man to stand upon to be seen and speak clearly.

”Ladies and Gentleman, men and women of Gondor,” the herald routinely began with, ”your gracious hosts are pleased to present to you, the second round of this exciting and jubilant tournament! In the green and red, Lord Torthon of House Talven! In the sable and blue, Sir Suiledir of Anfalas! By the ancient laws of jousting and combat, as decreed by our conscript forefathers of Numenor, the contest shall persist, lance after lance, until one of these noble competitors are unhorsed or yield. Honourable contestants, at the trumpet’s call, if you please…!”

”Here they go again.” Azraindil noted to her friends. ”Sir Suiledir must be half your father’s age.” She commented to Dulinneth. But experience could prevail over the impetuosity of youth, could it not? She knew very little about Lord Talven. To Azraindil, he seemed another of the dull archetype similar to her own father, concerned with legacy and perception of their name and House. How could one live even remotely for themselves when they focused so much on the opinions and viewpoints of others?

She wondered vaguely too where Lady Ilisys Azrubêl was. That’s who she really wanted to see.

”Oh! Did you have a look at that ring?” She then inquired of Dulinneth, who still had it. Her brother wanted her to find out who it might belong to. No one wanted to lose a precious trinket like that. She mentioned it casually though, carelessly in a way, so that Dina and Messerel might now hear and know about it, perhaps provoking their own curiosity.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel @Pele Alarion @Lantaelen @Rillewen

Lady Silivren Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1

With Pele sitting on Karis' other side, Silivren did not catch Pele's comment about the soothing of bruises - not over the noise of the joust and the response of the crowd. Probably for the best.

It was a good match, she noted. As she watched, her family pride warred with her motherly concern. The former wanted for Macardil to do well, to joust as many times as it took to become the victor of the whole competition. The latter side wanted him to go through as few passes as possible, without injury. But today, this second side was small indeed. For if Macardil lost quickly on this day, it would only worsen his reputation. Which was abysmal as it was.

When Toggornir was thrown from the saddle by the son of their host, Silivren smiled. Lord Zainaben could not have planned it any better. Three passes was very respectable, and with the kind of impacts Lord Dimaethor's future son-in-law had suffered, it was half a wonder he was still getting up of his own accord after being thrown from his horse. She clapped with approval when Abrazimir greeted his opponent and then came to enjoy his victory right in front of them.

When the knight had taken his leave, Silivren even went so far as to turn in her seat and address the Lord and Lady Dimaethor - doing her best to forget the way they had slighted Macardil upon their arrival. "A most excellent start of the tourney, my Lord and Lady. Your son honours you both, as well as the house Dimaethor, with such a knightly display."

Then she smoothly addressed Pele, while the attention of their hosts might still be upon her. "Captain Alarion, it is a pleasure to meet you, as well. I thank you for your approval for my son's continued access to the Ranger Training Grounds in Minas Tirith. The act was most gracious and brought back some light to his life." Her blue eyes settled on Karis for a moment then. "In addition to the radiance which your attentions have brought." She nodded her thanks to them both. "I consider myself in very good company, indeed."

---

Sir Suiledir of Anfalas
Competing in the joust, against Lord Torthon Talven
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer's end, Fourth Age

He was attending the Dimaethor joust as a representative of the Household of Lord Golasgil. The Lord of Anfalas did not have any sons, only daughters, and they were not of the sort to deny social constructs and compete in the manner of Lady Ilisys Azrûbel. A soft smile appeared on his face as he mounted his horse, thinking about the eldest of these, the Lady to whom he was all but betrothed. That the Lord Golasgil had chosen Suiledir to attend the joust, boded well for his chances. Not only chosen to attend, mind you, but also to represent - with Lord Golasgil's own colors, no less. The sable and blue.

The Dunedain blood had dwindled in Anfalas, and the knight's hair was closer to the sable of the colors on his lance than the dark locks of many others in attendance. Yet he was young and strong, composed and of a quiet sort. He fit right in, he thought with some amusement. A handful of others had been sent along with him, one of them one of the Lord's squires, now here to serve him in the joust and whatever else he might require assistance with.

"You are all set, Sir," the squire confirmed. Suiledir nodded. "Thank you. Off we go, then." After the silent command of his boots, the knight's buckskin horse started off their walk from their own station to the other end of the arena. Besides the opportunity to greet his opponent, he did not care much for this portion of it. The pageantry. And his lady was not here to bestow her favor upon him. Alas.

"Good luck, Lord Talven," he bode the older man when they passed each other, loud enough for his opponent to hear, if he was indeed listening for it.

Luckily the ceremony of it did not last long, and the herald was soon delivering the words which signaled the start of this round. The knight drew in a deep breath before donning his helm. The heat in the armor was not to be underestimated, especially once the helmet was on. There was a reason Suiledir had waited until the last moment, right before his squire handed him shield and lance.

Lord Torthon Talven. Sir Suiledir had never faced the man before, although he had jousted against the stepson, years prior. Aearonor Taurhebor had borne different colors, of course. It was a great loss that he was no longer among them, for Suiledir would have greatly enjoyed jousting against the young man once more. Lord Aearonor had always carried himself admirably, young as though he had been.

The trumpet called. His horse leapt forward even without any need for his command. Sir Suiledir prepared. The clash was imminent...

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Toggornir Talven
In the Arena, competing against Abrazimir Dimaethor

With his visor still down, hiding his face, Togg was free to glare all he liked at the victor of their match. "I'm fine," He all-but retorted, when Abrazimir asked if he was well. And, as if to prove it, he let go of the fence that he'd used to get to his feet, to show that he could stand on his own. He would have walked back to his end of the arena, but remembered to conduct himself like he had been taught, even if he didn't feel like it. Dipping his head slightly in respect to the victor, he managed to speak without gritting his teeth, "Well done, sir." Why was it so hard to be 'gracious' and all that? He also wondered why it should be necessary.

While Abrazimir enjoyed the cheers of the crowd, Togg left the arena, disappointed and annoyed at everything that could have been to blame for his loss. The unfairness of being pitted against someone stronger and more experienced, especially. Once he was behind the scenes, out of sight from the crowd, he pulled off his helmet and flung it aside, huffing a sigh of irritation. A servant brought a cloth so he could wipe the sweat away, and a glass of water. A healer came to check if he was in need of tending, but thankfully he had no injuries aside from some bruises that might trouble him for a day or two.

---

@Arnyn

Torthon Talven
Acting Lord of Taurhebor Estate

By the time he finished suiting up, Torthon found Togg waiting, already seen by a healer. He had removed his armor by now, and changed out of the sweat-drenched clothes into something suitable to represent their house. Torthon nodded approvingly at his son. "You did well, despite not winning. I'm glad you remembered to behave chivalrously, however difficult it must have been."

"Thank you, Father." Toggornir sighed and didn't comment on the last bit. "Better luck with your match."

With a brief nod, Torthon turned to Maerdor, who held his horse, Ebony. "Is he ready?" He asked the head stableman. There were few people whom Ebony would endure to handle him; Torthon, and Maerdor. All others who had ever attempted to come near him, he had tried to bite or kick.

"Yes, m'lord." The man replied meekly. "And rearin' to go, I may add." He held the horse while Torthon mounted, and then retreated, no longer needed here until the end of the match, however it went.

Togg passed his father's helmet to him once he was ready, followed by a shield bearing the Talven crest. "Do you think you'll defeat him?" He asked, curious what his father thought of this opponent.

"I suspect I will." Torthon replied, adjusting his shield. "If not on the first pass, I will keep trying until I do." He looked down at his son. "Patience and endurance, son. You must work on both of those if you hope to have victory in times to come." He tapped the wolf on his shield. "Through perseverance comes the reward and victory, remember."

"Yes, yes, of course." Togg nodded, needing no reminder of the meanings behind the emblems. "Good luck, Father." He handed him the lance, decorated in green and maroon, and stepped out of the way.

Riding out into the arena once the time had come, Torthon raised a hand in a wave to the crowd as the herald introduced him. He had participated in plenty of these in the past, and had both won and lost matches, though had never held any titles of championship. Perhaps this would be the year. After making a circuit of the arena, Lord Talven halted his horse near where his wife was seated. As he had always done in matches before, he bowed from the saddle. "My lady," He spoke loud enough to be heard over the crowd, addressing his wife who was already stood by the railing. "may I request a token of your favor?" He asked with a smile, his gaze focused on her. Any past disagreements between husband and wife would appear not to exist, and it would seem by this, that the couple were very much in love. He was all for making a good impression to the public.

Duvaineth had known in advance he would ask for this, and had remained standing as close as she could after the brief intermission, so that when he rode by and stopped as planned, she would already be there. With a smile, she reached out and presented him with the favor she had brought for the occasion, securing the token around her husband's wrist. "Good luck, my dear, and be careful." She let her hand rest on his briefly, her eyes meeting his with a hint of worry in them.

"Of course, as always." He replied with another inclination of his head, then smiled after her as she withdrew. He rode on, as Duvaineth returned to her seat near Orelnith, looking a bit flushed. "I hope he does well," She remarked, sighing softly as she picked up her fan, feeling a bit too warm, and over-exerted from taking the steps up to her seat for a second time that day.

As he passed his competitor, Torthon heard him also wishing him luck. Courteous, of course. "The same to you," He replied. 'You'll probably need it.' He thought with a touch of smugness. The same knight had once been defeated by a mere teenager, a newcomer to the jousts, after all. Torthon had never really liked his stepson, but he had been pleased to watch him defeat his first opponent in a tournament, once upon a time. Unlike Torthon's own son, sadly.

At last, it was almost time to begin. He rode to his end of the arena, and lowered the visor of his helmet, and the trumpet sounded. Ebony had indeed been anxious to charge. It was as if he had sensed the excitement around him, and was eager to partake in it. Torthon readied his lance as the horse bore him swiftly toward his foe. Aiming his lance for the midsection of the other man, Torthon raised his shield to protect himself from whatever blow he might receive in the next moment, and braced himself for the impact he knew was coming.

---

Dulinneth
in the Gaerlothriel's box

It was a relief that the first match was over. Dulinneth couldn't help being glad to see that Togg had lost. Served him right for treating her like he did. She was trying not to be too obvious about cheering for Abrazimir, but there was no reason why Gaer had to be subtle. Togg wasn't even looking their way, Linn noticed, watching him walk across the sands to go off to wherever he was supposed to go now. She could just imagine him probably scowling behind that helmet, and then he'd be sulking later.

She turned her attention to the talk she'd heard of archery. "I wish I knew how to shoot a bow," She sighed. "I asked Togg to show me, but he said it wasn't for girls." She made a face at that. "And then he told me to go back to sewing." She might have made a pouty face about that, but she didn't want anyone to see her and mistakenly think she was actually pouting about something. Like her brother's loss, for instance. "He's going to be in the archery contest, however. I wonder if he'll do better at that than he did in the joust?" She then grinned as a thought occurred to her. "Wouldn't it be nice if some lady were competing, and she defeated him at it?" She couldn't help a little laugh at that idea.

And now it seemed there was a short break from the competitions. A chance to get some refreshments! Linn was a little surprised by that, having not expected it. But she hadn't really been to a joust before, not since she was little. This was all fairly new to her. And now, it was her father out there, about to get jabbed in the chest with a pole. She wondered if that hurt very much? Sure, they wore armor, but still... she hoped he would be alright. After watching her mother give her favor to him, she smiled slightly, nibbling on a sweet treat she'd gotten from a vendor.

"Hm?" She was caught off guard when Gaer asked her a question suddenly. Oh! The ring. She had nearly forgotten by now that she still had it. She hesitated and glanced briefly toward the other two girls nearby. Meressel seemed to be busy telling Dina how handsome she thought the knight from Anfalas was. Dina looked slightly uninterested but appeared to be trying to listen politely. Leaning closer to Gaer, Linn spoke as low as she could manage while still being heard. "About that... I need to talk to you later, in private." She hoped Gaer wouldn't bring up the ring again. She had slipped it into her pocket for now, and began trying to think what exactly she ought to tell her friend, or ask her.

Before there was much more chance for talking, the trumpet had sounded, and her father was racing recklessly toward the other guy. Linn held her breath, watching and waiting to see what would happen, and if he would be hurt or not.