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

[Pele Alarion]

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

Pele took note of the introductions of the last pair to joust, still sitting back comfortably since there was no action yet to draw her fully into it. At that moment, Abrazimir turned back to her though with the topic they had previously discussed.

"Well..." she began hesitantly, a small smile touching her lips. "I must say that I am not all that familiar with the rules of jousting. I simply reacted because a hit to the head with the combined power and speed can be potentially deadly, helmet or no helmet. In the case of an accurate hit, the head would be snapped back sharply, might break the neck - and... bye-bye," she provided support to her opinion from a healer's point of view. "Are there any set rules though? Or does it simply depend on each contestant's honour?"

Pele paused thoughtfully, then leaned to glance at Toggornir before adding: "I'd say he should be warned, no matter if it is then handled with higher-ups or not. Unless there's some procedures I'm not aware of?" She looked at Abrazimir questioningly.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen@Pele Alarion

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

Azraindil was looking up at him, so Abrazimir averted his gaze after a few heartbeats, not wanting her to know what he was discussing with Toggornir. It would only upset her. He turned back to the Captain at his side, to discuss further the matter of Baradaer’s behavior during his joust. Pele’s words held a tremendous amount of merit in terms of it’s arguments. ”It is dependent on the contestant’s honour. And from we’ve seen, there was a severe lack of it on Baradaer’s part.” He said, before humming in thought to himself. No doubt Baradaer would claim it was an accident, a moment of instinct or forgetfulness arising from the anxiety of the situation. A knave’s response to confuse and muddy the affair.

”You are correct I think, Captain. Rules or not, he should be warned and notified of his unsportsmanlike behavior. And I will be the one to do it, after the day’s jousts are completed. Even if he will no longer compete here, he should know for wherever else fate takes him, that such actions are not acceptable. And then he cannot say he has not been warned.” Abrazimir agreed, thinking this was a good avenue to resolve the situation. Maybe there should be a set of codified rules. With all the hassle of war and invasion of the past Age, it might be something the current leadership could examine and standardized, in the days of peace that were now to come.

Toggornir made another suggestion that had merit, of speaking with Lord Ansellidus about his retainer’s behavior. Could be more prudent over dragging Baradaer’s reputation through the mud by speaking to other Lords first. Should attempt to address it with those more involved first, with the knight himself, and the Lord he answered to. ”And yet, the Lord Ansellidus does not attend this function, but sends this man instead to represent him. I think he would like to know how his name is thus presented to his peers.” Abrazimir stroked his jaw in thought. He didn’t know much about Lord Ansellidus.

”You hear anything about why he might be absent?” He then inquired of Toggornir, naturally, since Toggornir brought the individual up first.

---

@Rillewen

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

Abrazimir looked away slowly after a few seconds, which made Azraindil feel more uneasy at what he might know. Would he have exposed her on the spot and lectured her openly about such conspiracies to engage in such unladylike activities? And not just by herself, but with her young friends, of whom Azraindil was the eldest and thus should know better? No, he was never like that. Zorzimril would have done so, but Abrazimir preferred to handle things less in a conference and more privately. That was his record, right? But that didn’t comfort her either, thinking she might have to deal with a lecture later this evening and then announce to her friends all their plans were for naught.

She tried to act normal as she brought her gaze back to the sands and her friends about her. Dinalogassel was speaking of the Princess of Rohan and how she might have sneaked herself into the Great Battle before Minas Tirith. ”I would believe it was both, because she was a woman and a princess.” She answered at first, but truly knew little of the entire situation besides the tale. And maybe it was for a good reason, given how the Princess of Rohan was almost killed. But at what risk? She earned herself such glory for slaying the enemy commander! ”I wish I knew, Dina.” She frowned to her friend’s quiet musing, why they must go through so much trouble just to participate, even when it was just proven they could be just as effective or capable on the battlefield as any man.

A topic for another time, as the final joust was set to begin. The competitors would make their way onto the sands and soon their eyes would feast upon Lady Azrubêl in all her glory, a champion of the very cause the young women spoke of, an example of the heights they could obtain if the just defied societal norms. ”And she was there, too!” Azraindil exclaimed to her friends. ”At Minas Tirith, I mean. For the battle. I wonder what she did and saw there. We should ask her, after the match.” She suggested to the other women, another activity to add to their long itinerary of plots and schemes they had for this tournament. And maybe Lady Azrubêl would have some tips and advice on how they might pursue these goals, under the noses and thumbs of their controlling menfolk, given she had managed it by herself rather successfully.

[Pele Alarion]

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

"I somehow assumed honour was a given," Pele said quietly, a note of disappointment apparent. "But perhaps it should not be assumed so; people can be so different. Everywhere." She was prone to assume the best of people at first unless proven wrong, but it came with great risks and perhaps it was not the best approach. At the same time, when it came to matters much deeper than daily dealings, she had found it hard to trust even her best friends. A frown visited Pele's brow for a few moments, but she made sure to get rid of it again soon enough.

She looked thoughtfully at Abrazimir and Toggornir on the other side of him, and then commented: "It might not be easy to discuss this matter when the Lord Ansellidus is not here." She had stated the obvious, and then added with a shrug: "Unless it is not that burning an issue and can wait for an opportune time? Suppose not something to send as a written message by a hand of a messenger?"

Pele felt somewhat out of her depth with matters like these, so she was tentative in her suggestions and felt her way around to learn the customs and traditions of this region of Gondor.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1 - by the railing, among the people, with Trevadir

"Lady Azraindil?" Macardil rephrased, almost amused. "No wonder your grandfather reacted as he did," he added quietly, only for Trevadir to hear. "Lord Zainaben Dimaethor is nothing if not... entirely traditional." If word were to reach his ears, it might not bode well for any of the Thormaetha's. "Be careful with her," he advised. "While I am not a fan of the social constructs in these circles, I know them well enough. If you want to safeguard yourself from unwanted trouble... and your grandfather, as well... It would be wise to tread carefully." He glanced at Trevadir with sympathy before briefly looking to the stands. He had even greater sympathy for the young ladies in the noble circles of Belfalas. If he himself would ever be so blessed as to have a daughter, Macardil would take deliberate joy in raising her without such chains.

As to meeting Tobedir after the match to come, Macardil nodded his agreement. He almost rolled his eyes at Trevadir's insistence that he would win tomorrow, as well. Macardil nodded to indicate Trevadir's correct assessment that he would face one of today's other winners come the morrow. Recalling his victory against 'the big guy', made his eyes darken again. Not good. He would need to be able to keep his calm perfectly, if he was to mingle with any of the nobles later - in case any were to comment on his match against Baradaer. Composure was key. Anger was for the sands. Besides, it had to be under control before coming face to face with Ziran. Lest he strangle Baradaer the next chance he laid eyes on the man.

Trevadir's next words, however, served well to distract him from his inner turmoil. A small smile grew on his face as he looked at his friend, wearing that silly straw hat. And trying to cheer him up. Macardil nodded, slowly. "One might hope," he said. "For there is always that, at least."

[Ercassie]

The Ladies Sirdis and Eressild Azrubêl. Attended by Elen.
Seated in The Box of Noble Spectators. In Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil. Late Summer, 4th Age.

There was more debate and discussion in the stands after the third pairing concluded, perhaps because by now the earlier contenders had begun to migrate into the audience. It was only natural that they had begun to garner some attention from their fans and family now that they were more accessible. Some were garnering attention despite of their absence and Sirdis could not help but wonder if there would be quite as much criticism of Sir Baradaer if that knight had been stood at hand. Sometimes of course silence can be more telling than a thousand words when served as greeting. She had seen that cold dish served before.

The chatter between the younger nobles did seem all the more prevalent though for the lack of same, emanating from their elders. Were the older lords and ladies less excitable then as a rule, or merely more guarded of their opinions ? They could not all be so afflicted as she and her sister-in-law, her long-time best friend .. over some slight. When the announcement was made for their own representative to make appearance, both the Ladies surveyed the lines with expectation, in spite of the quarrel that had come between them.

This was a collaborative effort from the one’s daughter and the other’s son. And neither of those expected was evident as yet. For the first time perhaps since they had arrived, the two women exchanged a mutual fleeting glance in the other’s direction, absent of umbrage. The veteran of such circumstances, it was Eressild who reached for the hand of Sirdis, and squeezed it gently on the cushioned seat which had sat cold and unconsidered between them until now. Deeming this to be a cry for support from Isys’s mother, Sirdis complied, offering her own hand to clasp the other, with a small smile that she tucked into her long neck without word. Eressild it has to be said, raised her chin triumphantly in having brought the novice Sirdis to recalling, they must be seen to provide a united front.

It took only a tap with a single finger on the other side of her seat, for Eressild to alert Elen to her own responsibilities. That neatly turned out aide nodded once and quietly descended from their heights in the distinguished box. And, whether it was truly the cause or no, the more decided Lady Azrubel made mention then to her remaining cohort, ‘quietly’ enough to be overheard, without seeming that such a thing was her very intention, that she’d ‘sent to find one of those finely supplied Dimaethor staff with a thought to returning with cool drinks and refreshments’.

This apparent breaking of hostilities was met with a soft flutter of eyelashes from Sirdis in return, indicating her own understanding of the alibi. Wordlessly, she squeezed her friend’s hand softly in response. They would wait it out together, neither one willing to be the disappointment of the other, when it came to keeping up appearances.

---

Lord Emeredir ‘Merry’ Azrubêl. Attended by Ruberon
Seated in the Childrens’ Box of Spectators.

The other boys were not shy in responding to the Knight who had addressed his fans; the only one, Merry noted, to have done so. Although that might have been due to a Hosting duty for the Dimaethor Lord. Having risen gladly to show his respect to that knight, the young lord sat down again, when it became clear that the most recent competitors were not yet ready to retire to the stands themselves. One of them at least ought be too shamed to show his face, he supposed.

Talk had begun instead of what the excited crowd could expect next, and the youngest Azrubêl watched the comments fly between Iuldir and Caeleb. It was Tobedir, closest to him, who again reached out to draw the stranger child into conversation.


“I’ve watched them practice,” he admitted, because he was not sure that counted otherwise as an actual ‘tournament’. “It was nothing so grand as all this though, and always the same two opponents,” he sighed. For more than one reason. For, recognising Elen pass by, even in that moment, the young lord tried not to note her exchanging a brief word with Ruberon. Was he in trouble ? Was this some word of complaint or remonstration delivered from his mother and aunt ? But no, the lady in waiting went peacefully on her way and without further pause. The boy’s own faithful guardian did not look to make eye contact. He was safe.

“I don’t believe they’ve had a proper match around here for an awful long time, until now. Unless .. how many have you seen ?” Merry assumed the older boys to be of course more educated and less sheltered to the joys of life than he was. “Are any of you in training yet ?” he wondered, suddenly. Maybe they would all get a chance to take their turn soon. Maybe they could let him know what exactly he might be getting into in the not so distant future.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
Bt the rail with Macardil

He wasn't entirely surprised to hear what Macardil said concerning Lord Dimaethor. He knew enough about them from the summers he used to spend at his grandfather's house, growing up. He knew they were very strict, and had always felt some nagging suspicion that there existed some amount of disapproval toward him and his brother, although it could have been his imagination. Now, of course, there were many more factors to consider, and he suspected that Macardil was right; trouble may not stop with himself. And he definitely didn't want to bring any sort of trouble down on his grandfather. Dravedir had endured enough on account of his son, and Trev didn't want to be the source of yet more of it.

"I'll try to be more mindful of that," He mentioned, in reply to Macardil's warning. "I doubt anyone would believe my side of the story, if someone tried to make any accusations against me." He realized with some disappointment, and wondered if the girl was the sort to make up lies just to cause trouble for him. She didn't seem like it, but Trev, of all people, had learned by now that appearances and words are easy to twist into deception.

Hopefully his words had helped console Macardil somewhat, Trev thought. His friend's reply, however.. 'one could hope.. there is always that', made him wonder if he meant 'there is always hope'. And decided to keep his thoughts about that to himself. There had been times that Trev had lost hope, or nearly had.. but thankfully, he'd found it again. He smiled and glanced around. "Is it just me, or is it taking a bit longer for Lady Isys to come out?" He wondered, realizing it had been a little bit now since they announced her.

Curious if the delay was noticed by anyone else, he looked toward the stands where the nobles were seated, and noticed a bit of activity, although he wasn't sure if someone was leaving or arriving. Or possibly both?

---

Lord Ansellidus
Arriving late

The carriage bore the Ansellidus crest on the door, and was drawn by dark colored horses coated in sweat and breathing heavily. The carriage arrived in haste, bringing the singular occupant as close to the arena as the carriage was able to get. The driver had stopped many times along the way to ask where to go, and it was a relief to have finally reached the end of the journey. Stepping out of the carriage, the well-dressed young man in his early twenties paused to straighten and dust off his clothes and smoothed his well-groomed hair.

Turning back to the waiting driver and a servant who had ridden next to the driver, he gave some orders before dismissing them. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, the late arrival strode toward the arena while the carriage went on. The servants would procure his lodgings; whatever was still available, yet still suitable for one of his noble status. There would likely not be very many good places available, but that was the price of arriving after everyone else. The groom would then seek out stablemen of the Dimaethor's staff to learn where to put the horses up for the duration of their stay.

The jousting for the first day had already begun, obviously, but he hadn't missed it entirely, as he had thought he might. He'd made better time than he anticipated. As he approached, he could hear the herald announcing one of the contestants. As he paused to consider seating options, the other contestant, Lady Azrubel, was announced. He paused to cast a glance his sea-green gaze toward the arena, but as the lady didn't make an immediate appearance, he decided that he might as well find a seat. But first, perhaps it would be proper to find the host and make his apologies for the late arrival.

As he started up the steps, the young nobleman stepped aside, out of the way of some ladies who were coming down around the same time. He offered a courteous bow of his head as they passed him, with a quiet but polite, "Ladies." Once they had passed, he continued ascending the steps, heading toward the host of this large event.

---

@Lantaelen

Toggornir Talven
Sitting next to Abrazimir Dimaethor

Listening as Abrazimir and the lady talked, Togg was a bit surprised to hear him call her 'captain'. He tilted his head thoughtfully and glanced slightly around Abrazimir, trying to get a better, subtle look at the woman on the other side of him. He wasn't really sure what sort of captain she might be, and wasn't sure he liked to think of a woman being placed in command of.. anything. Still, the opinion was not always shared by others, and so he kept his opinion to himself.

Wishing for a drink in hand, he glanced around as the wait stretched on. Where was that female knight, anyway? Fixing her hair or something, most likely. Typical woman, he thought. He wasn't really so interested in seeing her compete, but if she was going to do it, she ought to at least be on time, he thought while holding back an impatient sigh. Anurion might be willing to wait weeks just to see her ride out onto the sands, but Togg would rather they had told her to keep out of this men's sport. Whatever though; he just wanted to see who would win so he could then find out who his father would be up against, tomorrow.

Abrazimir's inquiry surprised him slightly, that he would ask Togg. "No, I'm afraid I don't," The young Talven answered with a small shake of his head. If the hosts didn't know what was keeping the guy, why would Togg know? "I have not yet made the acquaintance of the new lord Ansellidus, although I have seen him at a few parties and other events, showing his wife around. I've spoken to him briefly but that's all. He's not much older than myself, in fact." He added, a little envious that the other man had such a large castle and a lovely wife, while he couldn't be more than a couple years older than Togg.

Even as he was speaking, his eye caught movement on the steps. Glancing that direction, he caught sight of the vaguely familiar young nobleman, dressed in rich, dark-colored clothing. He was dressed far too fancy for it to be anything less than a nobleman with much wealth, and he knew the Ansellidus were rumored to have great wealth. "Is that not him, though?" Togg nodded with his head toward the new arrival to draw Abrazimir's attention to the young lord heading their way. He would pass by them in a moment.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1 - by the railing, among the people, with Trevadir

He nodded, thinking it was that Trevadir would not take risks in this regard. Or at least... no unnecessary ones. Macardil remembered what it was like to be that young. "Few would," he agreed. "I could be the exception, but - again - at this point it would not do you much good, my friend."

With a pensive expression, Macardil looked toward the Azrubel tent that had been erected near the arena. "You are not wrong," Macardil mused. The knight from Pelargir had made his rounds and was ready to set off on his side of the arena. Meanwhile, his opponent had yet to show her unique self to the crowd. "I have not yet seen her leave... nor arrive, at the tent. I assumed that the Lady Isys had already arrived before I did." He was beginning to doubt that, now. It was true that Isys Azrubel had her... peculiarities. However, he had never known her to test an audience's patience in the arena. His sapphire gaze swung to the audience, to assess their response.

[Karis Ziranphel]

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


Ziran only half listened to the discussions going on around her, catching fragments of the girls’ discussions of archery and chants for Ilisys as well as the conversation to her left involving Macardil’s defeated opponent. It was partly out of an attempt to maintain her calm and also because her gaze kept returning to where she could see the figure of Macardil across the arena. She had seen his return to the arena in clean clothes and with the slash of red no longer visible across his cheekbone, and then his turn away after giving a searching look to the stands. He had seemed intent on something or someone, and her curiosity was assuaged when she recognized the form of Trevadir once her betrothed found him. She had only seen the flutist a few times, but the young man had become a good friend to Macardil, and so had quickly become one whose features she could recall even at a distance.


A slight smile played on her lips as she watched the animated flash of mirth that was followed with more serious looks and deeply involved conversation. It was good to see their reunion and that they were spending time catching up. It highlighted for her the difference in reaction to the former friends they had encountered yesterday. She was glad that he had one that truly knew and accepted him here, even if Trev was more properly from Minas Tirith.


The herald made his appearance to announce the next meeting of knights in the list, and Ziran had to deliberately shift her attention to look for Ilisys…except there was no horse and rider bearing blue and gold. Even if Ziran had not known what the lady knight’s armor looked like, she would have at least recognized the barding and heraldry of her house. There was the knight from Pelargir already parading the sands, and although the Ranger held nothing against the man personally she had no desire to see him win by default, especially with the murmurs that she had overheard already over the last day. Granted, Isys had many times proved her prowess at the list, but there were those like herself who had never seen her tilt in person. Even if she proved victorious and faced Macardil the next day as the list bracket had indicated was a possibility, Ziran hoped Isys would be able to compete.


“Miladies.” The quiet and now familiar voice pulled Ziran out of her musing about what might be happening and showed itself as belonging to Marian. The maid had brought a flagon with moisture beading on its surface, and held it up slightly to show why she was interrupting. “Cold cloudberry juice if it pleases you miladies. Don’t want you getting parched in this heat.” Ziran straightened with a smile and indicated that Silivren should partake first of the sweetly refreshing drink. “That was thoughtful of you Marian. Thank you.” She accepted a full serving of the juice in the polished pewter cup she carried and then gestured with it to Pele. “Would you like some?” Both of the young men had gone to their own pavilions and been tended by servants before coming to the stands, and had presumably received refreshments there, but it had been quite some time sitting in the heat for all the spectators. Once they had each gotten a drink, Marian bent to top off Ziran’s cup and breathed quietly. “He is unharmed ma’am.” Ziran’s dark eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly and then she gave the slightest tilts of her head in acknowledgement as she took a sip. “This is quite good. Thank you Marian.” Her lady's-maid dipped a curtsey and then retreated back through the stands to return to their encampment after a slight detour to leave some with Ruthor and have a brief consultation.

[Pele Alarion]

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

Even with the conversation being quite engaging and taking up the time, Pele could not help but notice that the pause in the joust competition seemed to take longer than usual. Her blue gaze looked at the grounds to notice one of the knights there. Isys was nowhere to be seen, though. She could not help but wonder if the woman had forgotten about this and wandered off into some other business known only to herself. She did not comment anything out loud though.

She was distracted from her thoughts by Karis addressing her and took note of the offered refreshing drink.

"Yes, please," Pele gladly accepted the offer. "A sip of something cool would be perfect."

Having sated her thirst, she then resumed watching the sands and looking around for Ilisys, with only a passing glimpse of a man who seemed to be approaching Abrazimir.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end, Fourth Age
Joust: Day 1 - by the railing, among the people, with Macardil

Trevadir's brown gaze followed Macardil's blue, toward the tent for the Azrubel competitors. "I saw them arriving at the archway, yesterday, about the same time my grandfather and I were getting here." He mentioned thoughtfully. "It was the entire Azrubel family, I think, including Lady Isys, and her squire. And I remember Nal mentioning that Isys had gone home back in July or something, to practice and prepare for this thing. Surely, she wouldn't miss it..." He wondered what could be keeping the eccentric lady knight. Horse trouble, perhaps? Armor issues? "Nardy wouldn't let her be this late," He muttered to himself, in slight confusion. Of course, there was also the Arkadhur matter which Nal had mentioned as another reason Isys went home back in July, but since he had seen her arriving just yesterday, he figured that couldn't be a reason for this delay.

As for Nardy.. well, Trev didn't know the guy all that well, personally, but he still remembered the year that his friend's cousin had spent in Minas Tirith. It was hard to forget the Killjoy when he had lived next door with Nal and his family, during the time Nal was recovering from his shoulder injury. Remembering how overly responsible Nal's cousin tended to be, Trev's frown deepened slightly.

He still remembered how annoyingly persistent Nardy had been about making sure that Trev got his homework done before he could come over and visit with Nal, and wouldn't let Nal do anything fun if it seemed even slightly against the rules, all that boring stuff. There had been more than one occasion during that year when Trev had attempted to skip school, so he could spend the day with his wounded friend, but the Killjoy wouldn't allow such a thing to happen on his watch, and insisted that Trev get to school before he was counted as tardy or absent. He’d even given Trev a lecture how he ought to set a better example for his little brother, and be more responsible, blah blah blah. And he had seen Nardy on a few other occasions over the last few years, including that time earlier this year at the Siren's Embrace. Each of those occasions had served to confirm to Trev that Nardy hadn't changed at all since he'd lived next door during that not-so-great year. Trev assumed that he was probably the same way with Isys, so.. that made him wonder where they could be.

"What would happen if she doesn't show up?" Trev wondered, turning back to Macardil. "Has that ever happened before?" He was rather curious about that, wondering if Macardil might have seen such a thing occur in the past.

[Lantaelen]

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

First round. Abrazimir Dimaethor…Torthon Talven.

Second round. Macardil Himhathol…Rûthon of Pelagir.

The final match of the first round was completed and the second was set to commence, after a fierce and competitive series of tilts. Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor, son of the host, Lord Zâinabên, set to face off against Lord Torthon Talven. And afterwards, Lord Macardil Himhathol, to face off against Rûthon of Pelagir. The board was updated by skilled calligraphers, with the winner of these two matches set to face off in the finals, in a winner-take-all tilt. A night’s rest would be granted to the competitors, so as to not face off in more than one match a day. The spectators deserved only the best. And warriors performed so when fully rested and fed.

The joust, while the main attraction, would not bring an end to the festivities at it’s conclusion. There was still a host of other contests and performances. There was to be archery feats, races, poetry, and even a squire’s melee. There were vendors plying food, drink, and all sorts of wares. All paid for and presented by the esteemed hosts, the Dimaethor family.

The second day of the joust was even more overcast than the first, though the grey skies did little to effect Abrazimir’s victory. While he was concerned that his kinswoman, and the reigning champion, had chosen not to compete for whatever reason, he was still coasting off the confidence and electricity of his first win. Over Lord Toggornir Talven. And now he was to face the man’s father, a warrior of experience and veterancy. Lord Torthon Talven. His father’s friend, among other things to his family. Abrazimir hoped, win or lose, that this contest wouldn’t cause irrevocable grudges to arise between them. He’d hate to bring low a political alliance long in the making but…

He also wanted to win. This was his home.

Once more he was fitted into his armour, with the aid and assistance of his elderly squire, Uirchanar. A coat of chain mail, steel gauntlets, his breastplate with the white swan of Dol Amroth emblazed upon the fore, and upon his head, the Swan-helm, with it’s silver wings upon either side. He clambered upon his horse, Sirdal, and rubbed his face, before fitting a black cloth mask over his mouth and nose. And a silent prayer to Uinen, his benefactor, and the chosen patron of his House. May She protect him from harm and bring strength to his arm. Uirchanar handed him a lance, swirling colours of blue, white, and gold running up it’s length. And then he waited for the herald.

He thought about his opponent. Lord Talven was much older than he was, but he could not let that distract him. Perhaps Lord Talven was of ancient blood, where skills and strength did not diminish over the long years granted to them. Who knew what Lord Talven had seen and done in his lifetime. He could have been a great warrior in his youth, fighting the foes of Gondor with vigour. Abrazimir should have asked around. He would know what to expect. But as often as it went, the moment a battle or fight started, any planning was essentially worthless. He would have to rely on his wits and instinct, no matter what happened, no matter who he faced. And if he won, there was a greater opponent to square off against.

---

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

Azraindil stifled a yawn as she took a seat in the first row, next to her usual gathering of friends. Yesterday had, unfortunately, not been conducive to their own plans. They had plotted to make a certain visit to a bird-boy, in the hopes of acquiring certain knowledge regarding the use of bows, but the evening festivities had gone on longer than expected. And their noble parents had mandated the young women’s presence without delay or excuse. Today might prove better for their hopes, as the joust would not go on so long (hopefully) and they would have a chance to free roam without their parent’s over their shoulders.

”Good morning,” she said to Dulinneth, Dinalogassel, and Meressel, and the others when they arrived. ”It’s just about to start.” She smiled welcomingly, as the bustle of everyone getting to their seats seemed to be simmering down. The Lords and chief nobles at the top of the stands, the younger adults and children near the bottom, and all around the fenced sands were the commonfolk from all over. The herald and his servant, with the box, were making their way to the center of the arena now. Her brother was about to compete! She hoped no foul or injury would befall him. Apparently they had more than a few dirty players in this joust, based on what she heard from her father last night.

The servant moved, placing the large box in the center, and then helped the Herald step up onto it, allowing his voice to better reach the circle of stands and spectators that surrounded the jousting arena. ”Ladies and Gentlemen, men and women of Gondor! We come now to the semi-finals of this most honourable joust. Under the auspices of Lord Zâinabên Dimaethor, our most gracious and noble host…” The Herald swept his hand towards the Lord, who rose, and there was permitted a short round of applause for his generosity as host, ”We shall find tempered in these matches two glorious and mighty opponents, from which there can only be…one…winner!” He exhilarated the crowd with the promise of a new champion.

”And now, in the green and maroon, Lord Torthon Talven! And his opponent, the son of your host, in the blue and white, our very own, Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor! By the ancient laws of combat, as mandated by our sainted forefathers of Numenor, the contest shall go on, lance after lance, until either one is unhorsed or yields. Honorable contestants, at the trumpet’s call, if you will…!” The Herald dismounted, while the crowd applauded and the gates at either end of the jousting arena were opened, permitting both competitors to enter the sands. Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor and Lord Torthon Talven.

Azraindil laughed and clapped her hands with the others, looking to her friends for shared sentiment. It was kind of too early in the morning but it was what it was. May it be a thunderous event to open up the second day of games!

[Arnyn]

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

His mood was much lighter this day than it had been the days before. And there was more than one reason for it.

While the stares and mumbles had not disappeared over the course of the night, Macardil had found that they had lessened. Both on his way to the small pavilion next to the arena as when he now stepped out of it and some eyes fell on him. There seemed to be less frowns. More thoughtful expressions. He would take them over the frowns any day. Was it because of his actions upon the sands yesterday? Was it because Abrazimir had publicly greeted him before he rode along the tilt?

Finding Trevadir in the crowd yesterday had been another reason. It had brought him a relief of a kind he was unused to, to see and speak with his younger friend - who so believed in him. Macardil took in a deep breath, a hint of a smile on his face as he looked out at the spectators surrounding the jousting area. Was his friend here today, as well? He had said he would be. It was difficult, though, to find a face in the crowd. Macardil also wanted to speak to him about something he'd heard - but maybe that could wait. And maybe... should he even bring it up in as many words?

Contemplating the matter brought his mind back to the unexpected meeting he'd had late last night. Yet another reason for today's positivity, which surely Ziran and his mother Silivren would have noticed during breakfast. He had not spoken of it to either of them yet, not wanting to be drawn into a long conversation about it, and not wanting to face any protest or objections - or even reserve - either of the ladies may yet have. He simply wanted to enjoy what he could, now. He could speak to Ziran at length, later today. When they were alone. And he could speak to his mother at some point, as well. She would also want to know. These thoughts lifted his eyes to the stands as he smiled.

But soon Ruthor was calling out to him, asking his preference on when he would like which parts of his armour donned. Macardil's smile grew a little. The fourth reason for his good mood was that he could compete again, today. He turned, to head back into the pavilion. Whether there was a fifth reason or not, well. His smile was privately amused as he entered the tent and allowed his squire to help him with part of his armour already.

---

Ruthor
Lord Himhathol's Squire
The day before, late evening

Ruthor held open the flap to his Lord’s tent as he came out, releasing it behind him and straightening to stretch his arms. After the day’s joust their hosts had made sure none of their guests were left hungry - in fact, Ruthor’s belly might have been a tad too full for his own comfort. He would have to watch that the days to come. Lord Himhathol had insisted that they both inspect his jousting armor that very evening, however, since he was to take to the sands once more in the morning. Again. For Ruthor had already done so once his lord’s match had ended. Yet he was now reminded of Macardil’s tendency to take matters into his own hands, and leave as little as possible to chance. They had inspected the armor and had made their preparations for the next day. This was a rare enough event, so Ruthor did not mind spending the evening hours on these matters. Yet he still found himself relieved that the day was over.

Grey eyes caught a man standing off to the side, eying the tents. “Good evening, sir,” Ruthor said, politely, but loudly, still standing right in front of the tent. So his lord may overhear his words and already be alerted of some strange man’s presence. “You are at the Himhathol pavilions. Might I be of assistance?”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Brenior Eglathor
Day 2 of the joust event

As the spectators all began to take their seats, Brenior returned to the uppermost box with the other lords, but cast a brief glance down at the lower boxes, where Dina was rolling Caeleb into his spot. Meressel was not yet there, but she would be along shortly. He politely greeted the others in the box before taking a seat. Today, there would be only two matches to witness. He was curious what the results would be. The first match would be with Abrazimir and Lord Torthon Talven. Brenior couldn't help wondering whether the elder Talven had the same views as the younger.

As for the second match, he wasn't familiar with Ruthon, and since Lady Azrubel withdrew from the joust, none of them had been able to see the man in a joust against anyone, yet. But he was looking forward to that match, and already knew who he planned to cheer for in each match. Especially after what had happened last night.

---

The night before
Brenior

The first day's activities had finally come to an end, and although the anxious parents had hovered over their invalid son as much as they were able throughout the day, nothing terrible had happened. Caeleb seemed happy and fine by the end of the day, though disappointed when it came to a close earlier than he had wanted. While the boy’s mother insisted on an early bedtime, Brenior had slipped out of their lodging tents so that he could avoid overhearing the inevitable excited whispering that would follow for the next hour or two, since Iuldir was obliged to join his friend in going to bed early. Brenior wasn't so naive to think the excited boys would go right to sleep when there was so much to discuss, having both seen a joust for the first time in both their lives. And yet, he figured if he didn't hear them chatting away late into the night, that he wouldn't be obligated to tell them to hush and go to sleep.

Benoit still didn't quite know how other folks would look on his family for having brought the other boy along, but he had to admit that it made Caeleb happy to have his friend there. And Iuldir was perfectly well behaved, at least, and Lord Dimaethor had seemed to enjoy meeting the boy. Brenior thought about that a great deal as he walked. He also thought about the comments his niece had made throughout the day, concerning how nice it was that Caeleb displayed such loyalty to his friend, that the differences in their social statuses didn't change the fact that they were such good friends, and some other things of the sort. Such things she'd been saying all day, to the point that he wondered if it was intentional hints that she was dropping, rather than innocent observations.

For his own part, Brenior had observed someone else doing similarly, today. Brenior had thought he would congratulate Macardil on his win, when he came to his seat in the stands after his turn in the arena. But instead, the other man had gone to stand at the railing among the commoners, and Brenior had seen him chatting companionably with a young man in a hat, whom Brenior had never seen before. He had been rather surprised by this, and a little confused, but he had definitely been thinking about that as well.

And then, if all of that wasn't enough to make him feel guilty for his own lack of warmth in greeting his old friend… after leaving the boys to his wife's care, and the girls had gone off to spend time with their friends, Brenior had walked around for a while before he witnessed something else, at the tavern tent. This had been the last straw in the guilt that was piling onto his conscience. That same young man he'd seen earlier had defended his friend, Macardil, in a way that Brenior wished he had done.

After witnessing that scene, Brenior knew that he could not put this off until a more convenient time. His steps turned toward the tents of Himhathol, determined to make things right with the man who had been his friend since their youth. He just hoped it wasn't too late in the night. And when he got there, he saw that there were a couple of tents to choose from, so which one? He stood hesitating for a moment, suddenly wondering if he ought to just come back in the morning after all.

But even as he was trying to decide what to do, Brenior observed someone.. was that Macardil’s squire? leaving one of the tents. He was certain it was not the straw hat guy, and thought it looked like the young man who had been aiding Macardil on the sands earlier, but he wasn’t certain of what name went with the man. Whoever he was, he had addressed Brenior, asking if he could be of assistence. Brenior straightened himself and smiled as he addressed the younger man. “Indeed, I am seeking Lord Himhathol.” He replied in a pleasant tone. “Could you direct me to where I might find him, please?”

[Rillewen]

Trevadir & Tobedir
Day 2 - Falconer's tents / Hunting Grounds

Despite his intention to introduce Macardil to his brother, when Trev had gone to find Tobedir, he had found that he'd already went off with his friends, and then he'd sort of lost sight of his friend among the crowd. So, instead, Trev had wandered around, done some exploring, then as the evening drew to a close, he had stopped at a drink tent to get a lemonade. That hadn't turned out quite like he'd planned, and he had been rather upset afterward. He had gone off somewhere to sit and play his flute for a little while, to calm his temper, before going back to the hunting grounds where he and Toby were spending these two weeks. It was nice to have a bit of time together, to get reacquainted, and for the first time that he could remember, Trev was actually happy to have his brother around.

And he still intended to teach him how to fight. He had meant it when he told his brother he would do that. In fact, it really bothered Trev that Toby had become such an easy mark for bullies. And he felt guilty that he had not been around to be proper a big brother to him, and that, because he hadn't been around, there had been no one to show the kid what to do when someone tried to push him around. Of course, Trev had had to learn that for himself, over the last few years. But now, he felt better qualified to pass on some of what he'd learned to his little brother.

So, since they hadn't had much time together during the day, when Trev arrived back at their tent, he had been glad to find Toby there already. Their grandfather had already gone back across the river for the night, so the brothers had a chance to spend a little time together before bed. Trev used that time to show Toby a few things that he could find useful, if he ever needed to fight. It started out as a simple lesson of basic stuff, but they'd ended up having a great deal of fun while they were at it. Before they knew it, it was much later than they had meant to stay up.

As a result, this morning, they had both slept a bit late. Trev woke first, and jolted upright, thinking they had missed everything already. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, then hopped out of the cot and hastily dressed before going to wake his brother. "Hey, c'mon," He shook Toby awake. "I think we're running late, better get dressed if you don't want to miss the jousting." He told him, then went to start the morning care routine for the birds that his grandfather had left in his and Toby's care.

Just about the time that Toby came out of the tent, dressed for the day, the brothers saw their grandfather coming. After exchanging greetings, the eldest Thormeatha assured his grandsons that he could take over the bird-duties while they run along and watch the joust.

"Come on, race you?" Toby grinned, though he doubted he could beat Trev. He'd always been taller and faster, especially now after all that time with pirates, he figured Trev must be extremely fast and everything.

"Ha, sure," Trev agreed, partly curious how fast his brother could run, now. Toby had been about eight the last time the brothers raced, and Trev's side no longer gave him a lot of trouble from his injury, so there was no reason not to run. It was a nice day, albeit quite early. They had a way to go before reaching the arena, and a nice early run would help them wake up while also enable them to arrive sooner. So, after Trev had grabbed his hat and secured his flute in its holster, the pair set off at a run.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven
Day 2 - in the box with Azrain and others

While Gaerlothriel stifled a yawn, Dulinneth didn't even try to stifle hers. She covered her yawn with one hand as she joined her friend in the box. Above her, her mother was greeting some of the others ladies, along side Lady Dimaethor. Her brother had elected to sleep late, due to.. not feeling well, he claimed. She didn't have to be told the real reason, for she had awakened sometime in the night, hearing her father giving him a scolding for some sort of drunken activity he'd been involved in. She only hoped that the noise had not carried far enough to reach their kind hosts, who had given them guest rooms at the castle.

She and Gaer had walked here together, yet Dulinneth had not brought up the nighttime drama, in hopes that Gaer hadn't heard anything about it. She had much better things to talk about, anyway. "Today, we'll have to try harder to accomplish our mission," She mentioned quietly as Dina joined them with her chair-bound cousin. "Good morning, Dina!" She greeted the older girl. "Where's Meressel?"

"She's on her way," Dina answered. "She and Aunt Aurien had a slight delay."

"I hope they won't miss anything," Dulinneth frowned slightly. "My father and Gaer's brother are up first. I.." She paused, glancing back to make sure her mother wasn't near enough to hear her, then lowered her voice a bit to continue, "I hope Abrazimir wins," She grinned, and quieted as the herald began to announce the contestants. She joined the others in a brief round of applause for Gaer's parents for hosting this lovely event, and then looked toward the sands below, watching for the contestants to emerge.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Torthon Talven
Day 2 - Preparing for the joust

Having defeated his opponent yesterday, Torthon was pleased to move on to the next round. Yet, it did make the challenge more difficult. He knew better than to resort to the sort of things he had seen Sir Baradaer attempting yesterday, obviously. The only way to win and still maintain his respectable reputation would be to go about it honorably.

He was in the tent assigned to him while he awaited the arrival of a temporary squire, feeling rather annoyed at his son for bailing on him. Yes, he knew having a hangover was no fun, but really, Togg knew he wasn't supposed to drink so heavily, and yet he did anyway, knowing he was supposed to squire for Torthon today. At last, the temporary squire came, and just in time. Torthon had already put on what he could of his armor, and the young man helped him with donning the rest.

Once he was seated on his horse, the only things left to put on were his helmet, take up his shield, and grab the lance. But that would wait until after he had greeted the crowd. He took a slow, deep breath, and readied his horse. When the herald introduced him, he rode out as he'd done on the day before, making his usual rounds, pausing to accept the customary favor from his wife, and then rode on to take his place at his end of the jousting arena. The squire handed him his helmet, which he secured on his head, and then took his shield and lance as well. Now.. to await the trumpet call.

[Arnyn]

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

The top part of his armour was mostly in place when Macardil emerged once more. Around one arm, he had retied the scarf his betrothed had given to him the morning before. The two riders, Lord Torthon Talven and Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor, were both ready. All they waited for was the call of the trumpet. Thankful that he had arrived just in time, Macardil approached the wooden railing around the arena and rested his hands on them, not yet gauntleted.

He surveyed the skies, and was glad to see the clouds. Hopefully, this exact weather would hold through his own match against Sir Rûthon of Pelargir, later. The sun that had appeared after a while the day before was as dangerous as your opponent's lance if you were not cautious, after all. It was a shame Macardil had not been able to see the knight compete. That meant Sir Rûthor had had every chance to see him jousting yesterday, but Macardil had not had the pleasure returned. The show to which the knight had treated them all the day before, before it had become clear his opponent, Lady Azrûbel, would not be participating after all, did not paint the best picture. Macardil only hoped that this day's match would not be too similar to yesterday's. He wanted to face an opponent who would not resort to dishonourable tactics or cheap tricks. That way, the game was at its best.

This match would be important to watch. If he won his own match today, after all, he would face whomever emerged victorious in this first match. He would not lie. He still wanted it to be Abrazimir. Though Macardil refused to lay blame of the son's aparent actions the evening before on the shoulders of the father, he would still rather face a... former?... friend than someone mostly unknown to him.

---

Ruthor
Lord Himhathol's Squire
The day before, late evening

He spoke nicely enough. But he was not offering his own name. Ruthor tried to sound both polite, subservient and firm. “I will ask Lord Himhathol whether he is open to receiving visitors at this hour, sir. Might I also offer him your name?”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir & Tobedir
Day 2 - arriving at the stands

Though Trev could have won the race, he decided to match his brother's pace for most of the way. When they were within sight of the arena and all of the crowds gathering to watch the joust, he put on a little burst of speed and got ahead before pulling up to a stop just in time to keep from crashing into the fence around the sands, and turned to grin at Toby as he did the same, a few seconds after. "You've gotten fast, but not fast enough." He informed him with a laugh.

Toby shook his head in slight amazement as he caught his breath. "I thought you'd gotten slow, for a minute there." He admitted. He grinned at Trev and took a deep breath as they both took a moment to let their breathing return to a regular pace.

Spotting Macardil not too far away, Trev's smile widened. "Hey, Toby, I wanted to introduce you to my friend yesterday, but I couldn't find you after the joust. Come on," he nudged him lightly and led the way toward the already partly armored man who had emerged to watch the joust. It had not yet begun, so maybe they'd have a moment to talk before the action started.

Following, Toby's eyes widened slightly when he realized whom Trev was heading for. "I saw him on the sands yesterday," he mentioned quietly. "I wondered if that was the same guy you knew.."

"It is, but I didn't know he was nobility, til yesterday," Trev told him, navigating around some people who had crowded near the railing. A moment later they had passed through the crowd and reached where Macardil stood at the railing. "Good morning Macardil!" He greeted his friend cheerily.

Partly beside, and partly behind, Trev, Toby waited quietly, but with curiosity.

---

Last night...
Brenior

For a half second, Brenior debated whether to just say ‘Brenior’, or whether to say ‘Lord Eglathor’ but neither sounded quite right to him. “Brenior Eglathor,” He decided on, after his brief inner debate. “An old friend.. if he still considers me such.” He added, inwardly a bit uncertain, but tried not to let that uncertainty show too much. And now, he would wait and see whether Macardil would still want to even speak to him.

[Rillewen]

Aurien and Meressel
Day 2 - Arriving at the joust

The delay that Dina had spoken of was actually Meressel. She'd had a 'crisis' in that her hair was tangled so much that she had a very difficult time brushing it. She blamed the boys, claiming they kept her awake and she'd tossed and turned all night, and she didn't like 'camping', and so it took her quite a while to get all the tangles out. Her mother had stayed behind to help her, and insisted the others could go on without her.

Finally, the two had accomplished the seemingly impossible task, had Meressel's hair styled nicely, and made their way to the box to join their peers. "Hello! Did I miss anything?" She asked, greeting Gaerlothriel and Dulinneth as she arrived, ignoring Caeleb and Iuldir who were sitting on the other end of the box. "You two look lovely," She added, getting situated into a seat by Dina.

As the girls got situated in their lower box, Aurien paused at the lower rail to greet Duvaineth, who was waiting for her husband to ride out. After a brief exchange of 'good mornings' and other small talk, Aurien moved to check on her son, taking a moment to fuss about getting a light blanket tucked in around his legs, and making sure that he didn't need anything. After leaving a kiss on his forehead, she reminded Caeleb and his friend to be careful not to get too close to the edge.

Then she went on to find a seat in the box where the other ladies were sitting, and gave her greetings to the other ladies who were there already. Soon, the first two competitors emerged, and prepared to begin. While Aurien didn't really care for what seemed like a vicious sport, she did enjoy that she was able to socialize for a change. The past eleven or twelve years, since Caeleb's accident, she had not had very many opportunities to get out and spend time with other ladies, although she still kept a careful eye on her little boy.

[Rillewen]

Caeleb & Iuldir
In the lower row of the box

Another day of excitement! Iuldir and Caeleb could hardly wait for the tournament to begin, with the second round. Yesterday had been thrilling to watch, although it had been quite disappointing when their new friend, the younger boy, Merry, was whisked away before any of the older three boys had a chance to reply to his inquiry. After Merry asked the three of them about their own training, Caeleb, Iuldir, and Tobedir had all exchanged quick glances as the question caught them all by surprise. Caeleb had been just about to answer and tell the younger boy that he was unable to ride a horse, or even walk, but that he was very good at drawing.. when the servant that had hung near Merry suddenly came in and told him that it was time to leave.

Their goodbyes had been swift as a result, and so the question never got answered. Afterward, the remaining three had been left somewhat puzzled. Was it because of them? The question had hung between the three for a while, and came up a couple of times between Caeleb and Iuldir, later. They wondered if Merry would be back today, and if so, whether he would be allowed to join them. It was rather puzzling, although Toby had said something about seeing Lady Azrubel and the others of that family leaving, too. So, maybe it wasn't about some sort of disapproval of their company, and more about some family crisis. Lady Isys had pulled out of the joust at the last minute, after all, so that seemed a more logical explanation. A preferable one, anyway, than what they had first thought.

As his mother stopped by to fuss about him, Caeleb held back a sigh. He really shouldn't have been surprised. "Mother, Dina already-" He tried to tell her that his cousin had already checked on him, and he'd told her he didn't want the blanket. But he let her tuck it in anyway, if it would make her stop fussing. He immediately rubbed away the kiss left by his mother, a bit embarrassed that she had done that in front of everyone. "Yes, Mother," He answered with a sigh, waiting until she had left before rolling his eyes and pulled the blanket off. "Too warm for this," He muttered.

"It's what mothers do," Iuldir shrugged. "I sort of wish mine could have come, but," He trailed off, shrugging. Ivornith couldn't take the time off from her job with the Ogre, as Saffyre called her grandmother. "Anyway, don't worry, at least she cares." He offered an optimistic view for his friend's consideration. He couldn't help thinking of Fyre and her grandmother who treated her as if she hated her. Caeleb's trouble was just the opposite; his mother loved him and worried too much.

"Yeah, yeah." Caeleb shrugged. "I wonder where Toby is, today? I thought he'd sit with us."

"There he is," Iuldir pointed down to where he saw their friend. "There, with his brother, see? Maybe he'll join us later."

"Ah, I see." He nodded as he spotted their other friend. Was that his father's friend that they were talking with? He thought the man over there looked familiar, anyway. "Well, I'm glad his brother is back, anyway." He glanced aside to where his sister was chatting with her friends about girl stuff. "He sure missed him, didn't he? I can't imagine missing my sister if she went away, but I guess maybe it's different with brothers."

Iuldir laughed. "No.. I think it's just that your sister is.." He paused. "I'd better not say.." He coughed, leaving it to the imagination as Caeleb grinned. "Anyway... my sister's alright. I sorta miss her, but I'll be back in a couple weeks. She's littler than me though, so I guess it's different there, too." He shrugged and sat back to watch as the event began to get started.


(all things concerning the Azrubels was discussed with @Ercassie ahead of time)

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

Trevadir's voice pulled his attention away from the readying competitors. A smile bloomed on his face even as he turned to find the face that belonged to the voice that had greeted him so cheerily. "Good morning to you, as well, Trevadir!" Macardil's deep voice returned the greeting gladly, and his sapphire eyes quickly picked up the boy standing nearby. "You are not alone, I see. This must be Tobedir?" he half assumed, half inquired. His tone was open and friendly, his smile genuine. Then his expression grew a bit thoughtful. "You and your friends cheered me on yesterday," he remembered. "From the stands." The smile returned. "I thank you for that."

"I suppose there is little use for me to give you my name," he laughed soberly, "but an introduction is still an introduction! My name is Macardil, and you may call me as such, just like your brother does." He held out a hand to Toby. "No need for the lord-business. Will you be watching again, today?"

---

The day before, late evening


Ruthor
Lord Himhathol's Squire

He bowed. “Thank you, sir. I will return shortly.” Turning on his heels, he then disappeared back into the tent. To find his lord standing not too far away, with a slight frown on his face.
“Brenior Eglathor is outside, m’lord. He desires a word with you, I assume. Though he only said he was seeking you, so I cannot guess his purpose.” Ruthor was very aware of the contention surrounding his lord’s name at present.

Macardil

“Brenior,” Macardil repeated quietly. He had heard Ruthor addressing whoever it was outside of the tent, and had therefore already approached the entrance - but he hadn’t been sure whether it had truly been his old friend’s voice. He couldn’t have been sure - not after their… greeting, the day before.

“I could tell him you are too tired,” Ruthor suggested.

Macardil’s frown deepened. “No,” he said firmly. He would never claim such a thing in this viper pit, but he definitely did not want to use such a flacid excuse with Brenior. Blue eyes seemed to want to stare a hole into the tent flap for a while, while Macardil thought about what this could mean. His final conclusion, of course, was that he would only find out if he actually spoke to the man. “I will meet with him,” Macardil rendered his decision. “Outside of the tent. You may leave the tent after I do and then your duties for the days are over, Ruthor.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder briefly, and offered him a smile. “You did well, today. I shall see you on the morrow.”

He stepped outside, his gaze instantly settling on Brenior standing not too far away. Unsure of how to greet him, now even more so than the day before, Macardil offered him a polite nod as he approached, halting about a yard away from the man. “An unexpected visit,” he told his one-time friend. Truthfully, he still did not know what he could or should expect from the cartographer.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir & Tobedir
Day 2 - arriving at the stands

Trev was glad to see that Macardil appeared to be in a better mood today than he had seemed yesterday, and returned the smile as he greeted him. "Indeed, I'd like you to meet my brother," He confirmed when Macardil commented on Toby standing by him, but since Macardil spoke to Tobedir next and already made an assumption on who he was, Trev felt no need to take care of the introductions. Instead, he let Toby answer for himself.

"Yes sir," Toby answered with a smile. "Very pleased to meet you, Trev's told me a lot about you, too." He said, slightly surprised the man already knew his name, and could only guess that Trev had told him about him. "Most people just call me Toby," He added, his smile growing as he reached out to shake hands with him, seeing that Macardil had held out a hand.

It was even more surprising to hear that Macardil had even noticed him and his friends from the stands. "Yes sir, we were," He nodded with a little grin. "I heard them announce your name, and thought.. I wonder if that's the same Macardil that Trev had told me about?" He explained. "Then my friend Caeleb said you were a friend of his father's, and we didn't know much about the other guy, so me and Iuldir decided we'd cheer for you, since Caeleb was going to. I'm glad to know that I was right in my guess, and even more glad that we chose to cheer for you. I didn't like the other guy, after seeing him out there. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," He added, before being told that he could just call him Macardil.

The other question turned his smile into a grin. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it!" Toby answered enthusiastically. "I've been invited to join my friends again, today," he glanced toward the box, and spotted Iuldir and Caeleb up there. "I'll be sitting up there with them, but Trev and I were running a little late. Then he saw you over here, and wanted to introduce you to me, first." He explained.

Trev smiled slightly as he watched, noticing Toby seemed excited, and was talking kind of a lot. "Yeah, I saw you standing here, and it seemed like a good time, since it hasn't started yet. I hope we didn't interrupt your focus or anything?" Trev mentioned, unsure what sort of things might be needed to do before going on to compete.

---

The evening before
Brenior


Waiting patiently, Brenior fought the nerves that troubled him, while his mind swiftly searched for the words to say if and when Macardil would speak to him. He wouldn’t quite blame him if he didn’t want to, but he also hoped that he would agree to it. And yet, he figured the guy was also probably tired from the competition earlier. While Brenior was not really one to participate in such things, he knew it was taxing to accomplish the things that Macardil had done, today, and he still had to prepare for tomorrow's match as well.

It seemed to take a long-ish moment before Macardil himself emerged. Brenior wasn’t sure whether to be relieved yet, however. He gave a faint smile to his one-time friend. “I’m sure,” He agreed quietly, when Macardil mentioned that it was unexpected. “And I hope the hour is not too late for my visit. But, I didn’t have a chance earlier,” Then he paused. “Or at least, not a good chance." He added. He cleared his throat softly. "One of the purposes of my visit is… Well, I wanted to congratulate you.. on your victory today.” He began with the easiest thing. “I wanted to tell you that, after the joust, but you didn’t come to the stands.. and once the competition had concluded, I had no opportunity to find you.” He explained.

In fact, Brenior’s attention had been split between his son, his daughter, and his wife, all vying for different things, on top of some of the other lords wanting him to join in things they were doing. In the midst of that chaos, he had momentarily forgotten all of his intentions of seeking Macardil out, and by the time he had remembered, he was gone in the crowd.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

"Then my friend Caeleb said you were a friend of his father's." This time yesterday, such a statement would have pulled him down. This day, however, it pulled Macardil's smile just a bit wider, until it flashed a row of teeth that looked rather white against his tanned face and midnight hair. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Toby," Macardil responded, using the name the boy seemed to prefer. "I will endeavour not to disappoint today, either," he said with a bow of his head. "Although the sands can be treacherous." His eyes glinted at the thought of riding along the tilt again.

"Ah, I would have extended an invitation for you both to stay and watch from this vantage point, but if your friends are waiting for you, Toby, best not linger overlong. The contestants are ready - when the trumpet calls, Lord Torthon and Lord Abrazimir will ride toward their first collision." His eyes shifted to Trevadir. "You may still stay and watch from here, if you wish, Trevadir. There will be no people crowding you here, although I should say you will be less in touch with the crowd's excitement, approval and disapproval." Macardil smiled. "Which can be a loss. Rest assured that you did not interrupt anything. Everything has been prepared." He gestured at the small tent behind him, from which Ruthor was just exiting. "In between this match and my own, there will be enough time for the final preparations."

The squire slowly walked up to them, and Macardil introduced them all smoothly. "Trevadir, Toby - meet Ruthor, who is squiring for me." Ruthor was just a few years older than Trevadir, and the young man smiled politely at Trev and Toby. "Well met, sirs."

With a half smile, Macardil's attention returned to the match, which was about to unfold. He drew a deep breath, enjoying the energy in the air, and the good king of nerves that were already nipping at him.

---

The day before, late evening

He wanted to say that the hour was never too late for a friend. However, he did not have the heart to do so. Not yet. Instead, he merely gave a small shake of his head to indicate that Brenior need not worry about it being too late. When the man continued, Macardil watched his expression carefully. The cartographer was offering his congratulations on Macardil's win at the joust. A momentary silence fell between them. Macardil then nodded slowly.

“Thank you, Brenior.” He allowed himself a sigh, then, and gestured away from the tents, toward the cliffs. “If you were thinking about a longer conversation, let us go speak there. I would not wish for our words to disturb the ladies in their tents.” He did not speak as they walked away, but after enough distance had been covered, Macardil decided to continue in the vein Brenior had chosen. “It was not an easy match. However, it turned out well, in the end.”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir & Tobedir
Day 2 - arriving at the stands

Toby grinned. "I bet you'll win, sir. I hope you do, anyway." He added, since he realized that he couldn't actually know what would happen. He was looking forward to today's matches, although now that he had met Trev's friend, he was most eager for the second match of the day.

"I think you will, too." Trev declared, unwilling to accept any other possibility until he was proven wrong. He smiled in surprise though when he was invited to stay and watch from here. "Oh, are you sure? That'd be nice, but I wouldn't want to be in your way or anything. I was only planning to stop in and say a quick hello, introduce Toby, and wish you luck before it came your turn.. but if you're sure that I wouldn't be in the way, or any sort of distraction, well, I would prefer your company to that of a lot of strangers jostling and elbowing me," He shrugged, also recalling how many of the folks standing around him had given him dark looks when he started cheering for Macardil.

As Ruthor walked up, Trev smiled back to the young man. "Hello, nice to meet you." He offered a hand for a handshake.

"Very nice to meet you, Ruthor." Toby echoed. "I could've maybe been a squire if some things had gone differently," he mentioned, somewhat intrigued to actually meet someone who is a squire.

Trev glanced at him, slightly puzzled.

Seeing the look, Toby explained, "Remember, that one time when uncle Olthion said something about how he'd like to have me come and be a page or something? Only he said it'd have to wait a few years, til I was older. And you tried to beg him to take me away to start training right then?" He reminded Trev. With a glance at the others, he added with pride, "Our uncle was a swan knight, before he died."

With a little color rising to his cheeks, Trev coughed lightly. "Oh.. right... I didn't think you'd remember that," He admitted, having mostly forgotten the incident, himself. "In fact, I'm surprised you remember him at all. You were only like.. three or so when he died, and we only saw him like once a year..." He added, a little amazed to hear it, but then.. Trev also remembered certain things from when he was about that age, too.

Toby shrugged slightly. "I have a good memory I guess," he said, not really sure what else to say. However, Macardil's words about the joust being about to begin made him glance toward the stands, where Iuldir and Caeleb were standing. "Well, I guess I should go and join my friends now," He acknowledged, slightly regretful, but he also was eager to go and tell them about meeting one of the contestants. "Thank you for the thought of offering, though." He added to Macardil. "If I had not already told them I would sit with them today, I would be happy to accept. It was very nice to meet you though, sir- Macardil," He corrected himself, smiling. "And you as well, Ruthor," He added politely. After having watched the knights and lords joust, it was easy to assume they were such important folk, especially the lords, that they wouldn't take the time to chat with someone so unimportant as him. So, it was a pleasant surprise to find that at least one of them was quite friendly and approachable. He wondered if they rest of them were like this, too.

"See you later, Toby," Trev spoke up as his brother prepared to leave. "Tell your friends I said hello." He added.

"I will. See you later!" Toby waved goodbye to them all, then set off to go and join them.

Trev smiled slightly as he watched him go, and kept about half of his attention on watching and following his progress while Toby wove his way through the crowds to get to the stands. "You know," he mentioned a moment later as he turned to Macardil. "I didn't really think about mentioning it 'til Toby mentioned it a minute ago, but.. well, most of my friends just call me Trev. You can too, if you'd rather." He told him with a little shrug.

---

Brenior
The evening before

For a second, he thought that Macardil wasn’t going to reply, but then he did, and Brenior felt a little of the clenching in his stomach relax a bit. He nodded slightly at the suggestion that they walk to the cliffs. “That would be best, I suppose,” He agreed, and fell in step along with Macardil. Likewise, he kept quiet, as he was not entirely sure what to say for the moment. But Macardil ended up breaking the silence this time, still in the previous topic. Brenior nodded thoughtfully.

“I heard some talk in the stands, about how your opponent would be forbidden to compete again, due to his dishonorable behavior.” He mentioned. He had no idea what the man had said to Macardil, but it must have been pretty bad to rouse the man to anger, unless Macardil had changed dramatically since Brenior last saw him. But, given the person it had come from, he wasn’t terribly surprised by that. He recalled Baradaer having some sort of problem with Macardil in their youth, though he would have thought the man would have put such things behind him by now. “I was glad that you defeated him, especially.. after whatever he must have said.” He wouldn’t ask, especially since he was not entirely sure what their standing was at the moment.

Which brought his mind back to that other topic. He allowed only a brief pause to pass before he drew in a slow breath, breathing in the salty smell of the sea air, while the waves crashed below. “I also had another purpose in coming tonight,” He began, and paused, because this was a little more difficult. He glanced at Macardil, partly to check if he was listening, and partly because he still couldn’t quite believe that he was actually there.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Second day of the Joust

It had been rather concerning and a bit of a let-down to have the third bout of the first day get called as a forfeit after the ramp up. Ziran had also hoped to get a measure of the man that would be tilting against Macardil later on, but only had the turn he had taken around the arena upon which to base her impressions. The second day had dawned with much less sun visible between the clouds than the day before, for which Ziran was quite thankful. Hopefully the heat would be less of an issue. Indeed, she even wore a light cloak of gray linen to ward off any breezes in case it suddenly turned cool above the sands. Ziran and Silivren made their way directly to the stands this time, as they had spent a pleasant time at breakfast with a rather surprisingly cheerful Macardil. After the heaviness of the previous two days, despite the first victory, Ziran was loth to disturb his good cheer, and kept to easy topics.

She had talked with Silivren about where to sit, and this time decided to choose a seating area somewhat higher than the previous day, further from the dust that would be stirred up and giving a good view of the proceedings without being so close to the upper boxes as to require conversation with those seated amongst the high ranking nobles. There were chairs here, rather than the simple benches, although not ornate ones. Ziran waved Silivren ahead of her and then took her seat with a silent sigh as she smoothed the skirts of her dark blue overdress. It would be nice to have the backrest, although today's proceedings looked to be shorter in duration, even with the aborted third matchup of the previous day. There were small refreshment tables by their seats, with enough room for a cup and small plate, but her gaze only passed over them before turning to the arena sands. She had invited Pele to join them again this morning if she wished, but the invitation was open ended, and she wasn’t sure if the Captain was interested in watching the event again.

She saw from afar that Macardil had donned part of his armor and…yes, bore once more the favors she had given him yesterday. A slight smile crossed her lips at the flutter of the fabric, and her gaze remained there until everyone’s attention was called by the herald. Ziran clapped politely for both Abrazamir in his blue, white, and gold, and Talven in the maroon and green, although perhaps slightly louder for the former. Her gaze flicked back to the Himhathol arming pavilion as they rode to their places, and noted him in what appeared to be an animated conversation with Trevadir and a young boy, although the boy soon split off and aimed for the stands after Ruthor appeared. It still annoyed her that it was not acceptable for her to remain down there as well, but she didn’t let it show as she slowly shifted her attention back to the now-ready horsemen. When would they begin? Would Abrazamir manage to be victorious again today or was he evenly matched?

[Lantaelen]

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

It was shocking, to say the least, to hear Dulinneth acclaim her support for Gaerlothriel’s brother, Abrazimir…rather than her own father. ”Linny!” Gaerlothriel exclaimed in a whispered gasp. Over her own father? Gaerlothriel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Not that she disapproved but it was surprising to hear the least. She had heard something happened with Dulinneth’s brother too but hadn’t gotten any of the details yet. She then glanced at Dinalogassel to see if she had heard what Gaerlothriel heard. She couldn’t say more as the Herald began to speak but there it was.

”Is your brother going to come support your lord father then?” Gaerlothriel then inquired of Dulinneth, as the competitors finally emerged. She didn’t know why she inquired about Toggornir. He might be her next intended so she felt she ought to have some interest, but it was difficult. The man had few redeeming qualities as far as she knew. But he was also Dulinneth’s brother, so that was the only real sticking point for Gaerlothriel. She wondered briefly about the other brothers, who died and the other went missing, presumably dead as well. But the thought passed after a heartbeat.

Meressel finally arrived and the girls scooted to make room for their friend. ”Not yet.” Gaerlothriel assured the new arrival. ”Just waiting for the knights to ride out. You made it just in time.” She said, before beaming a smile. ”Thank you.” She said to the compliment. Meressel was always a pretty girl so hearing it from her certainly meant something. She looked over to the boys as well, Caeleb and Iuldir but other than acknowledging them with a look, she could hardly be seen talking to them, with their parents seated above. The last thing any of them wanted was to be put in containment, where they were kept by their parent’s side and basically regulated from talking to anyone without supervision or an overbearing presence over the shoulder.

”We’re going to try again tonight.” Gaerlothriel said discreetly to Meressel. About their plans to raid the archery shed and get their hands on some bows and arrows. She knew that wasn’t exactly Meressel’s interest but she was apart of their group and therefore their conspiracy. She glanced across the arena, where she noted…Trevadir and his brother Tobedir were present. The bird-trainer’s grandchildren. They were talking to Lord Himhathol of all people. Curious. She turned to lean towards Dulinneth. ”The bird brothers can help us. I’m sure there’s a way.” Gaerlothriel said quietly.

---

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

The Herald announced them and Abrazimir took his lance and shield, urging his horse forward from his ready station into the open. The two competitors, himself and Lord Talven, were permitted to ride around the perimeter to receive the adulations and applause of the crowds and their various supporters, before moving to their starting positions for the joust. Across, Abrazimir looked to Lord Talven and still felt a measure of discomfort and uncertainly. He had unhorsed this man’s son. No doubt Lord Talven would not hold back. Therefore…neither could Abrazimir. For the sake of his House.

Silence fell as the crowd held it’s collective breath in suspense and anticipation of the beginning. The trumpeter raised the instrument to his lips and seemed to know all eyes and ears waited on him. Which is why, holding it to his lips, he waited. One…two…three… was he going to blow it? Then, like a knife through the silence, he blew clear notes in succession. The joust was on! And the crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

Abrazimir huffed and dug his booted heels into his horse’s flank, urging Sirdal into a charge down the center of the field. His lance he leveled, held fast under his arm, aiming it towards the oncoming Lord Talven. The two knights met in the center, their lances striking in an explosion of splinters and wood shards. And Abrazimir…got the worst of it. His vision was rocked and spotty with blackness, his mind reeling as he attempted not to pass out, while trying to clutch his horse’s back with his thighs as hard as he could from falling off. He tasted something very metallic in his mouth. And more of it was dripping down his nose, over his lips, staining his black face mask even more darkly. The crowd gasped. The Knight of Dimaethor almost unhorsed in the opening round!

Returning to his start position, Abrazimir yanked the mask down, revealing a bloodied nose and busted lip. He spat onto the sands and huffed, but the blood didn’t stop. ”The man hits like a runaway carriage.” He muttered to Uirchanar.

Uirchanar, surprisingly, handed him not a lance but a folded napkin. Lady Telirien’s favor! Abrazimir looked at it rather confused. ”I was going to give that back to her, certainly not with my blood on it.” He growled. ”Give me a lance!” He demanded instead, with his squire obeying without word or hesitation. And putting the Lady’s favor back into a pocket for later. He grabbed another blue-and-white lance, quickly handing it to Abrazimir, even as the horn call was being made for the second clash to begin. Wheeling back towards the center, Abrazimir shouted this time to urge his mount into a race, speeding along to face the deadly Lord Talven head on once again. His blood was flowing, his head was pounding, he had to get this right…

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

"Thank you, Toby," Macardil smiled at him. "You are very courteous." His smile switched to Trevadir when his friend added his conviction to the conversation. Macardil remembered how certain Trevadir had been yesterday, as well, and his smile grew into a small grin, even though he shook his head. "Your faith warms me, my young friend!" he exclaimed. "However, my competitor has plenty of experience upon the sands as well, and who knows on whose shoulder luck decides to reside today." It was all a part of the sport. No matter how fast, strong or accurate you were - you still needed chance to flip the coin your way.

"Yes, am sure in turn that you will not be in the way," he reassured Trevadir, just as Ruthor gave Toby a lopsided smile. Both Ruthor and Macardil bid Toby goodbye as he went to join his friends in the stands. "Feel free to pass along my regards to your friends," he told the boy. He raised a hand in response to Toby's wave.

It was a surprise when Trevadir said he could call him 'Trev'. Macardil gave his friend a thoughtful look. "I might," he said slowly. "Though I have gotten accustomed to calling you 'Trevadir'. Among the adults in these circles, abbreviations are not very commonplace. It is one habit I have not broken, I suppose," he realized, never really thinking about that before now. "I'm afraid I never had any abbreviation of my own name." He raised an eyebrow in warning. "Nor do I have any inclination or wish to start."

He gestured at the arena when the trumeter raised his instrument. "Behold," Macardil directed the attention of Trevadir and Ruthor. "They will ride..." His own eyes focused on both competitors. Who would fall? Who would triumph? The trumpet called out. The horses jumped into their charge. Macardil's eyes gleamed.
The collision was brutal. Abrazimir seemed to waver momentarily. Macardil's eyes widened when the crowd gasped. Yet the knight stayed on his horse. Macardil breathed out. He watched both Lord Torthon and Lord Abrazimir as both returned to their positions.

The sight of blood on Abrazimir's face had Macardil's expression settle into serious lines. "A rough hit," he spoke deeply, to both Trevadir and Ruthor. "Our host was wise to only organise one match a day for each competitor. Jousting is a rough sport, always. But this tournament is proving ferocious indeed."

---

The day before, late evening

Baradaer may be forbidden to compete again? Macardil gave Brenior a sidelong glance when he said that. On Dimaethor grounds alone, or beyond, he wondered? Then he also wondered whether he should or should not say much of the matters with which Baradaer had taunted him. He might have spoken about it to a friend like Brenior, before. When he knew he could trust the man. Could he still?

Still debating that as Brenior went on to say there was another purpose to his visit this evening, Macardil returned his glance. Hope flickered within, but did he dare fan the flame, small as it was?

Macardil was the one who had reached out yesterday, and his metaphorical hand had been left hanging, suspended in the air. Despite the sadness it had brought him, he had been forced to pretend it did not affect him much in front of his mother and Ziranphel. He had even defended Brenior’s response to his betrothed. And it had cost him some rapport with her. Macardil felt that it was the cartographer’s turn to reach out to him, now. Then again, did he wish to prioritize his bruised ego over their entire friendship?

“Did you?” he asked, slowing his gait but not halting.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Second day of the Joust

It wasn’t long before the trumpeter raised his horn, and Ziran found herself leaning forward slightly as he blew the signal. Each of the horses surged forward at the touch of their riders, and she watched avidly as each lowered their lances and leaned just so. Each of them struck hard, with their lances exploding into splinters and bodies rocking from the strikes…Ziran sucked in a breath as Abrazimir took a moment to recover as his horse jogged the rest of the way to the end and then back to the start.

The blood that was revealed when he removed his mask had her wincing slightly in sympathy, although it looked to her to be more from a strike than a cut. It had to hurt either way, but shouldn’t impede him unless breathing got to be a challenge. Her gaze cut back to Macardil briefly, remembering his cut from yesterday that he had made light of despite it needing some minor tending. Hopefully this would heal similarly. How about Talven? She realized she hadn’t looked to how he fared once he had remained horsed.

It was too late to assess anything by that point, as lances were taken up again and the trumpeter sounded the call. Ziran laced her fingers over one knee to keep them occupied as she heard Abrazamir shout and watched them come together for the next tilt.

[Ercassie]

The Ladies Eressild and Sirdis Azrubêl. Comings and Goings at the Joust.
Attended by Elen. At both the end of Day 1 and Beginning of Day 2

It was to her credit that Elen did not demonstrate any concern or due urgency as she made her way back from the preparation tent. Some might assume that the Lady’s Maid was accustomed by now to unexpected ‘adaptations’, so much so that they were scarcely even unexpected any more. Indeed, the descent of the Ladies Eressild and Sirdis from the stand seemed equally as choreographed. As though there were a practice for these type of occurrences, which there were not really.

No explanation was offered to their host, until the three women had come to the base of the spectating box, wherein their perfectly synchronised curtsy was managed to varying degrees of degradation as according to their hierarchy, before they proceeded to take their leave. This act serving as due meaning enough, that their competitor had withdrawn from the proceedings. The only assumption evident for this decision was that it coincided with both a widespread distaste amongst the audience at Sir Baradaer’s performance, as well as the belated arrival of young Lord Ansellidus himself. The arrogance which had already been demonstrated by the awaiting Sir Ruthon after all could surely not have caused such a reaction. But the absence else of any reason left the matter to the gossips.


At the far end of the sands, a rather flustered looking Lotte could be observed by those with keen sight, overseeing several young men in the colours of House Azrubêl, who were emptying the preparation area of horse and otherwise equipment. There seemed to be an awful lot of it, although no sign of the Lady Knight herself, nor her Squire, unless they were closeted in the large boxes which were swiftly and efficiently removed. Ruberon sighed but knew his duty was to see young Lord Emeredir from his seat to the head of their small procession, though it was clear on the young man’s face he too had not the slightest of clues what had occurred to explain it.

---

It was some surprise then, that the small company of Nobles had returned on the following morning, from a night’s sojourn at their home across the river. Few might have expected them to possess such audacity to return, after such a disappointing failure to perform. But this was a Lond Côl event, and as such the shame at not returning would have perhaps proven far more disrespectful. Grace under pressure was of course a lady's art and the ladies Azrubêl had weathered far more devastating climes without a dent in their polished presence to be seen.

Eressild had timed their arrival with a General’s precision, naturally, so that the two Ladies were shadowed to take up their previous seats by Elen, without a sliver of shame and also without missing the summons to start the day’s sport. There was no time for anyone to direct gaze or enquiry their way before the first bout was begun and all eyes perfectly aligned about that centrepiece. Rightly so. Sirdis might have been rather more surprised that they had managed it, if she had not known her old friend for as long as she had in fact. And so, privately relieved that she need not fear for anyone she loved to be maimed on the field this day, the Lady of Lond Côl smoothed down her skirt. And wondered if they were come mostly to showcase a second set of matching gowns, independent of those they had worn the day before, though decked out in the same resplendent colours of their clan.

---

The young Lord Emeredir Azrubêl. Attended by Ruberon
Re-joining the other young boys, to watch the Joust - Day 2.

Though he had already met the same small throng of boys just the day before, Merry allowed Ruberon to herd him to their company for day two, with a nervousness he knew that he dare not to display in public. It seemed rather rude of course to not openly admit how embarrassed he was about his very abrupt departure the day before. He did not want to pretend that such a slight should not be explained. But given that the knights were riding forth already, he was spared from making smalltalk from the start. Which was a shame because he surely wished to hear all about what may have happened on this side of the river, the previous evening. It was not as though he understood very well what had caused his own family's flight back to their own bank, although as head of his house, he might be looked to for all the appropriate apologies later.

The startling race to collision was quick, as it turned out, to steal his attention; for the action was no lesser for the passing of a day. Clearly the advancement to this second stage of the contest had heated up the riders and their rivalry. Having been forced to study his heraldry, Merry caught up quickly to speed with which knights were ahorse. He was therefore surprised and shocked to the point of standing up, when Abrazimir seemed to have taken a hard hit.

There had been no deviance from the rules, and both men had ridden with good form, but the small boy would not have imagined the elder of the two would have such a strength in his arm to deliver a matching blow. The day before ought to have schooled him that it was impossible to predict how a round would play out. But since both knights had held to their seats, this new day promised to give a good show.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Torthon Talven
Day 2 - Competing in the joust

Putting away all thoughts of everything besides what was happening here on the sands, Torthon dug his knees in and urged his horse onward with all speed. The crash was jarring, and he had to shake his head to clear his vision afterward. He was still on his horse, so that was good. He looked around, and saw, to his disappointment, that so was Abrazimir. But it looked as if he might have taken a blow.. in the head? Torthon had not aimed for his head.. he wasn't so stupid as to repeat the same mistakes as the now-banned knight from yesterday. He could only assume that his lance had slid up the other man's shield and struck him there, or perhaps had knocked his shield into his face, or something of the sort.

Wheeling his horse around, Torthon returned to the young man who was squiring for him, while mentally grumbling at his son for refusing to get out of bed for this. He took a fresh lance that was handed to him. The young man offered him a drink as well, which Torthon accepted, but swiftly returned his visor down to protect his face. There were only a few moments permitted to the contestants to rest between passes, and the moment the trumpet blew again, he was rushing across the sand once again, toward his opponent with every hope of knocking him out of his saddle.

---

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven
Day 2 - in the box with Azrain and others

Dulinneth swiftly glanced around when Gaer gasped and spoke her name as if she had said something horrible. She had to check that her mother had not looked this way, for that might get her in trouble. "Well, would you rather I lied?" She mumbled, for Gaer's ears only. Sure, she probably should be cheering for her father, but why should she? He never let her do anything, he always disapproved of everything she wanted to do, and he was so strict, it was nearly impossible to ever have any fun. And he never seemed to have any interest in her. He had plenty of time for Togg, but not her. She might have pouted at this thought, but she didn't want all of these people to see that. So, she refrained, and tried to think about something else.

That proved easy enough when Gaer asked her about her dumb brother. Linn rolled her eyes. "No, he wasn't feeling well." She replied, before lowering her voice to a whisper which she directed into Gaer's ear. "He's got a hangover. Father is very upset with him," She added, before sitting back into her own seat. A part of her knew that she ought not to have told her friend such information, especially considering the possible betrothal between them, but honestly, she felt that Gaer had a right to know what sort of man he is, before things got that far.

After a few polite words had exchanged between Meressel and Gaer, the latter mentioned the plan to try again tonight. Linn had to fight to keep a grin off of her face at this. "Good," She whispered back, before having her attention directed toward the 'bird brothers', and giggled softly at Gaer's name for them. "Do you think they could?" She wondered, a bit surprised. "Here comes Toby," She added, noticing he was heading for the box. She assumed he would sit with the other boys, like he had done yesterday, and she had no intention of giving her mother any reason to scold her, so she didn't dare wave or speak to him. But she was rather curious how they might be able to help in their endeavor. "I wonder if the others could assist," She muttered thoughtfully. "Boys get to learn things like that, right? They surely know at least something about archery.." She knew very little about either of the other two, though she was at least vaguely aware that the one in the chair on wheels was Darcaeleb Eglathor. The other she didn't know a name for.

---

@Ercassie

Caeleb, Iuldir & Tobedir
In the lower row of the box, a bit apart from the girls in the same row

As Toby made his way up to the box where his friends awaited, he briefly thought he'd caught a glimpse of an unpleasantly familiar face up a bit higher, but when he looked again, all he saw were a lot of lords chatting together as they waited for the joust to start. He shook his head slightly to himself and went to his seat from yesterday. "Good morning!" He greeted Caeleb and Iuldir cheerily. "Guess what?"

"You met Lord Himhathol?" Iuldir guessed with a laugh, then pointed to where they could see him and Trev standing at the rail together. "We saw." He grinned.

"Well, he said to give his regards to my friends," Toby informed him. "Turns out, he is my brother's friend," he added.

"Great! I only met him briefly, the day we arrived," Caeleb mentioned. Before he could say much more, the joust was starting, and all three found themselves watching with held breath as the two competitors raced toward each other. The crash made them all flinch slightly.. it was loud! and lots of splinters went flying, they could see that even from up here.

About that time, they noticed that the younger boy from yesterday arrived and joined them again. "Merry!" Iuldir greeted him this time, cheerful. "How are you?"

"Oh, hello! We missed you yesterday. Sorry you had to leave so suddenly." Caeleb added. "Will you be able to stay longer today, perhaps?"

"Hi, Merry." Toby greeted him, but decided not to add anything else, so not to overwhelm the boy with too many questions all at once.

---

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

Trev nodded slightly as Macardil responded to what he had said. "I probably should get more used to 'Trevadir'," he admitted. It was a bit difficult to explain his thoughts about the whole thing, however, and he wasn't sure if he ought to try and get into something like that right now, when Macardil was probably trying to prepare for his match. Watching the others joust probably had something to do with that, right? He smiled though, after being told he wouldn't be in the way. That was something else he would need to get used to, he mentally acknowledged; people not treating him like he was a problem, or a nuisance. And not saying things to hurt him, like Dev was so good at.

When Macardil called his attention to the competitors, as they were about to begin, Trev remained quiet while he watched them rush toward each other. Then they collided, and he winced slightly. It made him think of two ships crashing together, or a boat being dashed against rocks, or something like that. A hard impact. The poles had shattered, and he could only think how lucky it was that they wore such thick armor. He quickly glanced toward Macardil, curious what his armor was like, and hoped it was good enough to protect him from sharp, pointy pieces of a lance. "Which one are you hoping will win?" He wondered, curious about that as well.

---

@Lantaelen

Lord Ansellidus
In the upper row of the box

Having arrived, yesterday, just in time for the last match to be called forfeit, Mar had been a bit surprised. He had missed the entire first day's jousting, and although he had made sure to greet a few people and make sure his presence was known, he had yet to even have a chance to offer any excuse or apology to the host. He hoped to alter that, today.

He arrived early to this morning's event, having familiarized himself with the results of yesterday's matches. As well as having publicly rebuked his own representative, Sir Baradaer, for his conduct. He was actually very annoyed with the man.. though not because of what he'd done, but rather, because he hadn't been more subtle in how he went about it. He almost couldn't believe it when he heard, and had some difficulty in keeping his annoyance to a minimum. Otherwise, the guy might have been suffering from far more than a broken tailbone...

Putting that matter aside, Mar had been fairly pleased with the lodgings procured for him by one of his servants, and had slept well enough. His arms were wrapped in fresh bandages, and covered by the sleeves of an elaborately embroidered garment, as he made his way to the stands. While he waited for a chance to speak to Lord Dimaethor, he glanced around, and caught a glimpse of the Thormaetha brothers. He watched them for a moment, noticing when the younger split off and came to sit in the lower row of the box, with some of the young nobility. Interesting. Then he turned away so that if the boy looked up here, he would not see Mar. He'd rather not be recognized by anyone from back home, and unfortunately, both of those two could certainly recognize him.

A moment later, the joust had begun. Hoping that all eyes would be on the knights below, he turned to watch with interest as the two horsemen collided with such ferocity, one of them had blood on his face. That was the son of the host, wasn't it? He was fairly sure, seeing the colors displayed on his gear. And the other he was not very familiar with, but he thought that it was another lord, one who was friendly with the Dimaethors, right? So, with that thought in mind, he refrained from making any comment, and merely watched.

---

@Arnyn

(The night before, with Macardil)
Brenior

Now that it had come to it, this whole thing seemed far more difficult than he had thought it would be. And he really wished that it wasn’t necessary; that they could just pick up as if yesterday had not even happened. He took a slow, measured breath in, but resisted the desire to look away. “I wished to apologize for the way that I greeted you.. or, rather, failed to greet you, yesterday.” He explained quietly. There, he’d broken the ice on that topic. He cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable with the topic now that it was breached, but it couldn’t just be swept under the rug.

“I don’t know if I can suitably apologize, and I’m sure any excuses would seem.. insufficient, but I would at least try to explain, as well as I can… if I may.” Ever since it happened, Brenior had tried to think about it, trying to make sense of what had happened... with himself, and with the situation. That moment had replayed in his mind many times, and there were a few things he could think of to explain it to himself, but he wasn’t sure whether it would merely sound like excuses, to Macardil. So, he paused there, in case Macardil might just tell him to go away, and that he didn’t want to hear what Brenior had to say.

[Pele Alarion]

Pele Alarion
The Dimaethor Family Estate, Lond Côl, Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End, Fourth Age
Joust - Day 2

Even though it had just been the first day of the event, entertainment had been plentiful after the joust; however, Pele did not quite feel that comfortable among all the "high" folk. As soon as it would not be considered rude and when she could do so inconspicuously enough, she had quietly disappeared to roam the surroundings and explore whether there were any gardens adjacent to the castle or any other area close at hand that would not require going long distances to find a little piece of nature. She also had half a mind to see if she could sleep in a hammock by the sea, yet it would probably be seen as too outrageous. Besides, her room did offer wonderful views out the windows, and the bed was very comfortable.

Even if this was technically her vacation, Pele was up early on the second day. Early enough to meet the first rays of the rising sun as she let the cool waves of the sea splash around her feet. She hoped it was early enough for most of the noble people and she could simply enjoy doing what she liked without others looking at her down their noses. Dressed in a simple garb of grey leggings and green tunic, she walked along the shallows and leaned down to examine a random shell or a starfish. Then she turned abruptly and quickly waded into deeper water ending it in a dive head first into a larger wave that rolled towards her. For a few moments she splashed around merrily, and then swam back towards the direction she had come from with firm strokes of her arms.

While Pele had wrenched out most of the water from her clothes as far as she could, she still left a wet trail after her as she ran back to her assigned quarters to get ready for the day. Exchanging her wet clothes for an appropriate gown would not require much time, and deciding that she would not wear the same dress as yesterday, she picked a light green dress which satisfied her demands for not restricting the movements too much, made her look summery, yet was more or less along the lines of what might be termed as 'proper'. The hardest part was styling her wet hair into something other than... the look of wet hair. She wished the length would be more than barely an inch or two down her shoulders, but it was what it was. After much drying with a towel she finally managed to have her hair under control with an aid of a couple intricate hair pins.

And so it was that while she had started her day very early, the Captain arrived at the joust late. She approached at a slow enough step to spot Karis and take her up on the invitation to join. She offered her greetings with an easy smile, both to Ziran and Silivren, and any others seated nearby, and then took her place on an empty chair.

"Hmph," she huffed once she had acquainted herself with the happenings below on the sands. It was clear that she had missed at least one tilt, and by the looks of it Abrazimir had taken quite a hit. "Perhaps a different kind of helm would have helped," she commented quietly, mostly towards Ziran, and leaned forward to see what would happen as the two men rushed at each other again.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

"Abrazimir," Macardil told Trevadir quietly but without any hesitation. "I am not well acquainted with Lord Talven. However, Abrazimir was a friend, before..." He inclined his head, referring to the obvious. "... everything. He was shocked to see my arrival, to be sure. Nonetheless, he spoke courteously to me before my match, yesterday."

He gave Trevadir a weary smile. "Diplomatically or socially speaking, if I were to advance to the final match, it might be better that I do not face the Dimaethor heir." How to explain this to someone unused to the intricacies of this life?
"On the off chance that I were to win against Lord Abrazimir, after all, his father, Lord Zainaben, might not appreciate it. He might take it as a slight or an act of arrogance. On the other hand, the Lord might also consider it a sign that I am not as cowardly or traiterous as he surely now believes me to be. These things can work in strange ways. Winning against Abrazimir would be as if I were flipping a coin - and one side would spell ill, while the other would spell fortune.
"If I were to lose against the Swan Knight, which is the most likely scenario, then surely Lord Zainaben would see it as a sign that I am indeed just as guilty as the rumours would have him believe.
"Facing Lord Talven would be safer in that respect. For winning or losing against him would probably not change anyone's opinion of me. Not for the better - but also not for the worse."

He returned his attention to the sands. "When it comes to the joust, however... I remember what it is like to tilt against Abrazimir." He wanted that thrill again. It had been too long. "And, you must admit - the man does present a good show. Along with the honour to solidify it." Facing a competent and honourable man, just a few years younger than him - yes. That is what he would prefer. Even if it would be the more difficult match, in his opinion.

Not that Lord Talven was anything less than competent, himself. Macardil was watching him, as well. In case he won his own match against the knight from Pelargir, and in case Talven won and Macardil was to face the older man on the morrow... He would have to prepare for hits that felt like a battering ram against his chest or arm, it seemed.

---

The day before, late evening

When Brenior spoke of an apology, Macardil’s heart lifted even though he did not wish to show it. Their slow walk along the cliffline continued, the waves crashing onto the rocks below. An apology. Brenior had come to extend his hand. Could what Macardil had hoped for prove true? Had Brenior come, of his own accord, to at least hear ‘his side’ of the story - or at least to discuss whatever warped version had reached the cartographer’s ears?

“Brenior…” Macardil began, shaking his head slowly. “While I would indeed welcome your insights on why… part of me can imagine. Before you delve into what drove you to respond as you did yesterday - please. Lift the weight off my shoulders. What will be the results of this conversation? Now the first shock has passed through your system… Can I still call you a friend? Will you still call me one? Or have you come in search of the truth, before you make any decisions in this regard?”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
Day 2 - arriving at the stands

Trev was mildly surprised at how quickly Macardil answered the question. If it had been him, he would have had a difficult time deciding between the knight who had given so much trouble to him while he was on his father's ship, nearly killing Trev many times.. or the lord whose son was such a rude snob. Of course, he didn't know if it was quite fair to judge the father based on the son.. considering he really didn't want anyone to do the reverse, with him. So, maybe he ought not be so quick to assume the worst about the man currently competing.

Still, listening to Macardil's reasons for why he preferred Abrazimir to win, even when it would be better for him if he didn't.. Trev nodded slightly in understanding. He wanted Abrazimir to win because he's a friend, or at least, had been a friend. Trev smiled faintly. That was something he definitely understood far better than all the intricate social expectations and stuff with nobility. If he was in that predicament, he'd much prefer Nal to win for the sake of his friend having success, even if it meant he would then have to compete against him later, than to see his friend be defeated.

Still, a few things about the nobles didn't quite make sense. Like why anyone would think Macardil was guilty, cowardly or traitorous just because he got defeated in a joust. He couldn't help a slightly puzzled look at that. "Wouldn't it be just as likely that if anyone's going to think those things, that they might still think it even if you win?" He asked, recalling a certain encounter from last night. He looked back toward the competitors. "Yeah, he does," He agreed, though he couldn't help thinking about some of his own unpleasant encounters with the man over the years.

---

Brenior
The evening before

Hearing Macardil’s question, Brenior was somewhat surprised he would have asked it. And the way that he asked whether they would continue to be friends, as if that were Brenior’s choice alone, was even more surprising. The surprise came out in the form of a quiet little laugh; partly in hope, partly in relief, and also partly in amazement. “Well, that was what I was hoping,” He responded, before reining in his eagerness a bit. “I mean,” He hesitated. “I feared that you might not wish to be my friend any longer, after.. yesterday. I realize that I behaved rather rudely. But it was not my intention, I assure you. And, while I am puzzled by that whole matter..”

Since Macardil had brought it up, Brenior looked at the man beside him with a slightly puzzled frown. “I have.. heard of the things that happened,” He informed him slowly. It had not actually been in his plans to inquire about that, actually, but he couldn't help being curious. “I assumed it was all a lot of wild rumors, and at first I disregarded it, and told others that it wasn’t possible. But, people said there were witnesses, and, well... that you were locked up, awaiting trial. I thought that it would all come out as some sort of wild misunderstanding at the trial, but then I heard nothing more about that... no trial, no more news at all. And then, you didn’t come around to visit when you normally would have, and no one really knew anything except that you were in the dungeon, and it seemed that no one was ever likely to see you again.” He sighed, frowning.

“And, well that is part of it, I suppose. The fact that I didn’t expect to see you ever again, that is.” He explained. “I was saddened by that, so it was quite a shock to see you here, when we arrived. I was glad to see you, of course. I had always felt sure there must have been some misunderstanding about all of that, and yet, I couldn’t find any sort of sense in what the rumors said happened, and what I know of you. And, you did seem to be gone for quite a while, which seemed to confirm that you were locked away, so.. I didn’t know what to think.”

He hesitated. “As for whether we are still friends… well, I didn’t stop thinking of you as a friend. I just..” He sighed, and hoped this wouldn’t come off the wrong way, “After everything that I’d heard, I thought it might be wise to be careful of what I said, concerning you, around certain folks. I’m sure you know how some people can be...” He hoped Macardil understood that. It went along with the same reason that Brenior and his parents had covered up the scandal of his sister running off with some guy she’d just met, so long ago. Macardil was the only one outside the family who knew of that.

After saying all of that, he then added quietly, “And yet, now.. I deeply regret that I did not speak up more in your defense, as I should have. I realize that now, and for my failure to do so, I am very sorry.”

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

"Hmm." Macardil's eyes were glued to the match, and his divided attention made his voice sound a bit different from the norm. "It would be just as likely, I suppose. However, in a society like this - there is more at play than what might be relevant in cities that have become more..." He searched for the right term. "Progressive."

"Have you ever heard of the old practice of trial by combat? When two men disagreed, and they did not wish to go to a judicial trial, they would ask for trial by combat? It was supposed that the Valar would give their graces to the man who was in the right. Hence, the winner of the combat also became the one who was in the right in whatever conflict had arisen."

"And while Gondor has moved past such practices, as a rule, the older ways are still remembered best in circles like these. Even if they are no longer practiced in the same way. Abrazimir is not only a part of the nobility, like Talven is. He is a Swan Knight. That means something here, for their ranks are well guarded and hard earned. If I were to defeat him, the old ways might work in my favor. If I were to lose to him, they would surely work to my detriment."

He smiled stragely. "I do not expect it to make much sense to you. It only makes sense to me because I have been taught the history, the expectations, the intricacies..." As the younger Lord Dimaethor and Lord Talven rode to clash once again, he fell silent.

---

The day before, late evening

He was so focused, so intent, on Brenior’s reply, that the little laugh startled him. The man’s first words made Macardil’s eyes widen with gratitude and relief. Brenior had feared that he would no longer want to be his friend after yesterday’s exchange? Macardil shook his head decidedly. Of course that wasn’t the case! Why would he let such a fleeting moment decide on their friendship, built after so many years?

As it turned out, Brenior did not believe the rumours. Not at first, at least. It settled Macardil - moreover, it brought him joy to hear. Understanding filtered into his mind as Brenior explained the chain of events. He had hoped it had been something like this. This was what he had been trying to say to Ziranphel. Macardil nodded when Brenior spoke of the shock at seeing him.

“Regarding yesterday…” He paused, but only briefly, and shook his head again. “Yesterday was only a brief moment in the long years we have known each other, Brenior. The shock, I understand. The confusion, as well. It was also not the first time I saw such a response,” he shared with some reluctance, for it was not something he liked to speak of. “And while it brings me no joy when it happens..." Macardil paused briefly. "Quite to the contrary, in fact... I have learned to cope.”

He held the other man’s eyes. “If I am hearing you right… When you first heard of all of this, you did not believe any of it. And as more and more signs pointed to my incarceration as being fact, which it was, your response was still that it must have involved some misunderstanding.” Thank the Valar. “You heard no more, and you saw naught of me." He was verifying whether he'd understood everything correctly. "And this caused.. some doubt, in the end?”

“Was it doubt about what I had done that caused you to not speak in my defense? Or was it your caution in regards to the Belfalasian snakes?” Macardil asked with a faint, wry smile.

---

@Karis Ziranphel @Pele Alarion

Lady Silivren Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

Silivren was quite pleased that Karis took heed of their conversation - and Silivren's suggestion - regarding the seating on the stands. Silivren took her seat first of all, befitting the hierarchy between them, although she wondered whether her son's betrothed had waved her ahead intentionally.

In truth, the matron had expected more of a fight from Karis on not being allowed at the small pavillion next to the arena. Not that she was not relieved that did not happen to be the case - for she was. It would give her no joy to have to fight her future daughter-in-law on this. And so, Silivren was left to wonder yet again. Would Karis make a point of it when she was alone with Macardil, or not? Had she made a point of it already, and had he managed to explain it to her satisfaction - or had he shut her down? Silivren did not know. She was finding her son was much more private about this second relationship. A little smile appeared on her face. He had learned.

Her expression was impossible to read as she clapped for the competitors and then watched the first tilt of the match between Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor and Lord Torthon Talven. She did not fail to note that the younger Lord Talven was not squiring for his father, as the young man had done the previous day. Nor was he among them in the stands. There could be no other reason for this than trouble. The competing Lord Talven would, therefore, be immensely displeased with his son. For Talven was well aware that such assumptions would be made, regardless the actual reason.

During the Captain's arrival, Silivren also did not fail to spot Pele's damp hair, pinned up as it was. She politely returned a more formal greeting to the Captain's own, despite the woman's tardy arrival, which would - should - be frowned upon.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
Day 2 - standing with Macardil

Nodding thoughtfully as Macardil explained about the old 'trial by combat' thing, Trev realized that line of reasoning did make some sense, although he thought it seemed like an unfair way to judge a person's guilt or innocence. Although, maybe the Valar did help those who were faithful.. he vaguely recalled how he had managed to win a fight he never would have thought he could, when it was Iole's life and future on the line. Perhaps the Valar had helped him, then... but then, that thought made his thoughts jump to those crazy fanatics in Umbar who believed Sauron was aiding them.. Pharak, who believed his life had been spared by him, and all that nonsense. If the good valar could help the innocent and good, then the evil ones could also help the evil people, right? So that was still not a very accurate way to conduct a 'trial. He closed his eyes briefly as he took in a slow breath, thinking how good it was that such a thing was no longer practiced, then focused on pushing all those sorts of thoughts out of his mind, and watched for the next collision.

Noticing that Macardil seemed intent on watching the jousting, now that it had begun, Trevadir decided to keep quiet now, and watch as well. He still didn't quite understand the appeal of this whole thing, but it was clear that Macardil enjoyed it; both watching, and participating. Glancing toward the stands to check that Toby had made it to his friends, Trev was a little disappointed in that regard; he couldn't see over there at this moment because the sun was in his eyes. So he turned his gaze back to the arena, and noticed some movement over by the Talven station. Trev had difficulty not smirking slightly as he noticed who had just arrived, halfway into his father's jousting match.

---

Brenior
The evening before

It was a tremendous relief to hear that Macardil understood, and, if Brenior understood him, also forgave their unfortunate encounter yesterday. He hoped that was the case, though it was unspoken. Upon hearing that Macardil had apparently gotten used to people reacting with shock and confusion, Brenior felt bad for him. And, even worse for having been a member of that ‘club’, himself. He held back a sigh of regret upon hearing this.

When Macardil began repeating things back, checking that he understood what Brenior was saying, he nodded slowly. Correct; he had not believed the rumors, and had even told a few people they had misread or misheard this news, and that more than likely, Macardil had actually apprehended the murderer. He still couldn’t really believe that Macardil would have murdered anyone in cold blood, much less his own commander, and yet.. Brenior couldn’t explain why all of those witnesses had apparently seen him do so. He nodded again to confirm that the news had stopped coming. No updated rumors had reached his ears, stating anything to do with Macardil having been proven guilty or innocent, and that too had been strange.

The last few questions brought a twinge of guilt to his heart, and he let his gaze drift downward to the waves as he considered, seeking the most honest answer. “Mostly, the latter,” He answered with a small frown, after a moment. “And, as for the former,” He shrugged slightly. “I wanted to insist it was all a wild hoax.. that there was no way you could, or would have done what they claimed, but how could I deny the word of so many witnesses, many of whom were considered quite reliable? Your own fellow rangers, at that. And how could I deny something when I didn't even know all of the facts? But yet, the claims made no sense to me.” He looked at Macardil, puzzled. “I know you aren’t stupid, Macardil. Yet, it seemed to me, that only a person severely lacking in intelligence would have done such a crime in full view of so many witnesses. The only way it could possibly make sense, is if it were a crime of sudden passion, but.. you have the most self-restraint I’ve ever seen in anyone. I’ve never known of you to have a tendency for anything of that sort.” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the arena. “Even today, when you unleashed your anger, it looked as if it took a great deal of goading, and then.. you still behaved with perfect chivalry and honor.” He shook his head. “It made no sense at all. And yet.. it apparently did happen.”

Letting out a little sigh, he shook his head. “I can’t say that my failure to defend you wasn’t at all selfless,” He admitted regretfully. “But, I have had many reminders, today, of what a person ought to do if they are truly a friend to someone, and I… regret to say that I feel I have fallen somewhat short of that.” He said with a sigh, then smiled faintly. “Just a little while ago, in fact, I witnessed a young man fighting to defend the reputation of a friend of his who was not even present. He risked.. quite a lot, in doing so. More, I’m sure, than if it had been me, but if he knew how risky it was, he didn’t care. All he cared about was that someone had insulted his friend, and that friend’s reputation, and this young man refused to simply stand by and let such things be said about this friend of his.”

Brenior paused, wondering if Macardil had heard anything about that fight in the tavern, by now, and expected that he would already be aware of who he was talking about. He went on though, quietly. “It made me realize that, of late, I had not been as good of a friend to you as I ought to have been.” He went on. “I do admit that yesterday, I was a little worried about what people might think if they saw me being… too openly friendly with you. I am ashamed of that, now that it's come to my attention. I hope you can forgive that.”

[Lantaelen]

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

Abrazimir’s head was still spinning. How could he have miscalculated so badly on the first tilt? Such things were difficult to recover from, especially in a sport like this. He wasn’t even sure what happened. Just a bad hit, striking his shield, the kinetic force carrying right through into his upper body and head. The trumpets sang out for the second tilt and Abrazimir strained all his mental focus on remained upright and gripping his lance. He spurred his horse onwards, his shield raised and his lance pointed to the heavens, as he began to race and pick up speed towards his opponent, Lord Talven.

Speeding headlong, Abrazimir lowered his lance, clutching it under his arm, aimed across his line of approach towards his oncoming opponent. With yet another great clash and explosion of splinters, the two riders met. Abrazimir though placed more might in the defense than on his own offense, absorbing Lord Talven’s blow direct into the midst of his shield, while his own lance was aimed at the other man’s shoulder, barely glancing it and almost missing completely. There was no stagger or disorientation as Abrazimir rode by, discarding his broken lance, as he moved around the opposite end of the arena from Lord Talven. He was starting to get a feel for the other man’s strategy and style.

But still, his head rang and ached. And he tasted the metallic texture of his blood in his mouth with every gulp and swallow. He returned to his starting position and received another lance. ”The Lord’s good. He has the years.” Uirchanar remarked, as Abrazimir prepared for the next, third tilt. Yes, he was much better than his son had been. Years of experience no doubt had steeled the other man into knowing what to expect. Sheer grit would not prevail. Abrazimir had to use his head, which throbbed so painfully. But he could think of nothing just yet.

The third trumpet sounded out. The audience cheered and applauded. This is what they liked to see, a ferocious round with many passes and broken lances. Abrazimir shouted to his horse, urging Sirdal into a race, lowering his lance once more. This time, he hoped, he could put more strength into his offense instead of overcompensating his defence. Riding fast and furiously, Abrazimir aimed his lance to strike the very bottom of Lord Talven’s shield, thinking he might double the man over with most of the force punched into his abdomen…

---

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

”I suppose not.” Azraindil responded to Dulinneth. She didn’t know much about the home life of the Talven’s, despite the promise of her House to be joined with theirs. It seemed a rather sensitive topic and this wasn’t the place to discuss it further with Dulinneth. But she was happy to have another pair of hands clapping for her brother, who wasn’t doing so good. Was that…blood? Azraindil gasped, having heard her brother being hurt before in the wars, but seeing it here live was something else. She visibly paled, but managed to keep her composure for the most part.

”My brother drinks a lot too.” She said when Dulinneth explained that Toggornir had been drunk. Too drunk, clearly. ”It seems ridiculous, the men’s reasoning for drinking. In victory, they want a drink to celebrate their triumph. In defeat, they want a drink to drown out their sorrows. I don’t understand it…” she murmured, never having partaken herself in any sort of wine or ale or alcohol. Her father was pretty rigid against it too. Abrazimir though was still rather young, by Numenorean standards, and seemed to enjoy it, with a degree of moderation. Maybe that was something they could ask of the bird-boys as well, since they seemed to be more open in talking to the noble women, who had many of their conversations policed already.

Azraindil watched as Tobedir joined the other boys further down the bench from where the girls sat. Look at them, they seemed so carefree and unrestricted, as compared to Azraindil and the girls. ”Hmm…I think they would. Maybe we can coach them into thinking they are showing off for us. And then get them to show us.” She mused to her companions, thinking they might be like Dulinneth’s brother, in that showing off their prowess to women was something they all craved. She wasn’t aware that the girls and boys didn’t know all each other. Azraindil knew everyone, mostly, so it should be no trouble to make introductions.

As the two jousters separated after the second tilt, Azraindil leaned back to Dulinneth. ”That young boy over there is Emeredir Azrubêl, my cousin from across the water. Lady-Knight Isys’ kin. He might help us too. But I don’t know about his attendant. They seem to be more open about us ladies engaging in some of the martial pursuits, over there.” She pondered openly to her best friend. Then another thought came to her and she put her hand on Dulinneth’s forearm, to draw them to a more serious conversation, wrapping her arm around Dulinneth’s elbow so they could sit very closely and have a very private conversation.

”Did you ever figure out who that ring belongs to? The one my brother gave us yesterday.” Azraindil then inquired of Dulinneth. She remembered Linny mentioning she had to speak in private with Azraindil about it but they never got the chance to. Was it safe to do so here? It seemed very serious and her curiosity was getting the better of her.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

He frowned in thought as he watched the second pass. Abrazimir had not landed a good hit on Lord Talven. Had he all but missed on purpose? Or had it been beyond his control? In both cases, that first hit might have caused more damage than should be hoped for. Macardil rubbed the lower half of his face as he tried to analyse the pass.

At least his (former?) friend had taken Talven's hit well, this time. Macardil could tell as much from the knight's posture and the way he was riding Sirdal back to his station.

"I wonder," he mumbled, "whether this next tilt will decide the match." The way Abrazimir urged his mount into this third run, made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

---

The day before, late evening

So. Brenior had not believed it. And even when everything pointed to the rumors being true - Brenior had never been able to make sense of the rumors in combination with what he knew of him.

Macardil smiled sadly as Brenior continued. Yes, he saw how the rumors would not make any sense, and today’s events underlined that they in fact did not make much sense at all - but people still had to open their minds to the possibility that there was more to it. Even if they knew him. That Brenior had managed to see past the rumors and take his character into account, was something to be thankful for.

“What happened on that ranger mission was not a crime of passion.” Macardil sighed, still troubled over the fact it had happened to him at all. “It had nothing to do with emotion, in fact. Contrary to what transpired during my match against Baradaer.” He frowned. “I do wish I could have kept my anger toward him under control. If it was that obvious to everyone…” He clenched his jaw. “His slights against my own character, I could ignore. The taunts concerning my father, as well. However, the insults toward my betrothed…” He did not finish the sentence. That was all the information he could share on the subject without rekindling the anger he had buried. Macardil shook his head. “Well. You witnessed the results of those.”

“On that mission… The situation was entirely different. The choice was beyond me. Taken from me.” He hesitated, but there was no other option now than to try. “The real story is much more unbelievable, really, than the one you have heard. For it involves abilities far beyond what is ubiquitous to the Men of Belfalas.” He paused, wondering how he could possibly explain. It was even more difficult here than it was in Minas Tirith - where so many had witnessed the impossible Army of the Dead, for example. “There are days where I still have trouble believing it myself. The burden will always be with me.” The pain and grief in his expression and tone would be obvious to someone who had known him as long as Brenior had. “In that respect, you cannot fully defend me for not committing the crime. It was my knife, it was my hand, that ended my commander’s life.” He still hated talking about it, even though he was beyond grateful that the King had released the lingering hold that had been left upon his tongue for so long. “But it was not my will. It was the enemy leader’s will, forced upon me…” Knowing how ridiculous it must sound to those who had never known of such a thing, he did not wish to meet Brenior’s gaze. His throat was dry. “As if he had an invisible hand forcing mine.”

He fell silent. There was more to the story, more to what had happened afterward. But this would be a difficult truth to swallow. First, he needed to know if Brenior would look at him like he had gone daft. First, he needed to know whether Brenior would retract his earlier statements, call him a liar, possibly even a murderer, and step away from the conversation entirely.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Torthon Talven
Day 2 - Competing in the joust.. Togg arriving to play squire

The second pass had been easy. He could see that his opponent was suffering from the first rough blow. Torthon was smiling to himself under his helmet. As he returned to trade his shattered lance for a fresh one, he was quite caught by surprise to find his son there, with the temporary squire standing back a bit uncertainly. "About time you showed up," He remarked, taking the lance that Togg had offered to him.

"Sorry." Togg mumbled. "I'm here now. How is it going?"

"I think I should have him defeated after this pass," Torthon replied, feeling quite confident. "And you should have been here from the beginning, watching and learning."

"My head is killing me," Togg complained, but shrugged. "But I'm here. Sorry I was late."

"I'm sure it was noticed, and it won't look good on you.. or on me. Don't let it happen again," Torthon frowned. "And don't let the 'situation' from last night happen again, either." He added before putting his visor down. The trumpet was sounding out a third time, and he wheeled his horse around. Gripping his lance, he set off with all speed toward Abrazimir, to meet in a headlong clash of splintering lances.

Watching from his spot, Togg sighed and leaned against the rail while sipping from a canteen. When he saw the collision between his father and Abrazimir, he winced slightly as he thought it looked like his father had taken a much rougher blow this time around than last time. He recalled from yesterday how powerful the swan knight's blows could be, and watched with slight concern at how Torthon rode back toward him afterward.

The lance struck his shield low, and drove the bottom edge into his side. While his armor protected him from the majority of the impact, it still hurt, and he let out a grunt of pain as fought the instinct to double over. Gritting his teeth, he let his horse carry him back over to where Togg waited.

"Are you hurt?" Togg frowned, confused what might have gone wrong. He had been so confident a moment ago.

"I'm fine," Torthon replied through clenched teeth. "Give me a lance."

"Take a few breaths, first, Father." Togg suggested, frowning. "The fourth trumpet hasn't sounded yet."

With a little nod, Torthon decided that might actually help. He took a few slow breaths, evaluating how his side felt. He figured he'd be alright, but he might be sore for a few days. "Alright, lance." He spoke in a less pained voice this time. Togg passed him one and watched as he put down his visor and prepared to ride out a fourth time, this time not letting himself get too confident.

---

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven & the other girls
Day 2 - in the box with Azrain

As the two horsemen collided, Dulinneth cringed slightly. Noticing Gaer, beside her, paling a little, Linn quietly grabbed her hand. "They won't get too rough, I'm sure," She tried to console her, though she really didn't know very much about it. She knew that yesterday, people had been rather upset to see how the one knight had behaved so ruthlessly.

"Your brother really needs to get a better helmet, Gaer!" Meressel added, also concerned by the sight of blood. "I hope he's alright."

As the two continued their passes, she thought it looked like Abrazimir wasn't doing so well today. She frowned, leaning forward, somewhat concerned about them both. While she was hoping for Abrazimir to win, for a couple of reasons.. that didn't mean she wanted her father to get hurt. And she also didn't want Abrazimir to get hurt.

"Ohhh, that looked like a rough blow," Dina commented, wincing slightly in sympathy as she watched the last one, when Linn's father looked like he was having trouble sitting up straight as he rode back to get a fresh lance.

"I know.." Linn bit her lip lightly, peering over that way as she tried to get a better look to see if he was really hurt, or just initially a little sore. "But.. they do a lot of training, so.. I'm sure they'll be fine," She tried to convince herself. Then, noticing who handed her father his next lance, she blinked in surprise. "Oh, there's Togg, he made it after all." She commented, though not really with any joy. It was merely unexpected, since she knew he had grumbled fiercely at the very thought of being awakened.

Soon, during a pause between the clashes, Linn turned her attention toward where Gaer had directed it, and nodded as her friend pointed out the young Lord Azrubel. "I've heard of him," She mentioned quietly. She wondered if the boys, sitting a little apart from them, would be willing to help in their endeavors. Her glance strayed quickly to the attendant that lurked near Emeredir, but quickly returned to Gaer, lest she be caught looking over there. "It's difficult to say, I suppose." She agreed. "My governess was supposed to have come along with us. If she had, she would have been shadowing me everywhere I went," She rolled her eyes slightly. "But, at the last moment she began to feel poorly, and mother told her she needn't come along. So I'm free," She managed to keep her joy contained, and her voice down to a whisper.

Just as she was about to turn her attention back toward the jousting, Gaer recalled her thoughts to the ring from yesterday. Linn held back a sigh; she had wanted to talk to Gaer about that yesterday, after the jousting was over, but things had happened which kept them apart. She hesitated, debating about how to answer her, but the problem was the same now as it had been yesterday. There were too many people around. "We need to meet somewhere, later," She whispered back. "We'll talk about it then, alright?"

---

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

Trev leaned forward, resting his arms on the railing. "He doesn't look like he's doing so well," he remarked quietly. He was a bit surprised; going from his own experiences with the knight, one might think the guy was invincible. He'd seen him fight several pirates at once, and come out victorious while others died. "If he loses, that means you might have to fight Talven, right?" He knew that would be decided by the outcome of Macardil's own match, after this, of course. But he thought the chances seemed high, and he wasn't sure he liked the thought.

Adjusting his hat slightly, he tried to see his brother again. He could make out three.. no, four boys there in the row, and one had to be him. The sun kept him from seeing much else. So long as Toby seemed alright though, he wasn't too concerned by that. He turned his attention back toward the competitors on the sands. "Do you know very much about the Talvens?" He wondered, curious what Macardil might be able to tell him about them, and if he knew what sort of guy the lord might be.

---

@Arnyn

(The night before, with Macardil)
Brenior

As Macardil expressed concern about whether his anger had been obvious to everyone, Brenior shrugged slightly. “I don't know about everyone,” He replied. “Those who know you well, yes, but to the average observer.. perhaps not.” But he couldn't really be sure of that, since he was not the average observer. “I believe my daughter may have simply thought you were showing off or being 'daring',” He added with a slight eyeroll, but smiled faintly nonetheless at the girl's naïveté.

Hearing that Baradaer had insulted not only Macardil, but his father and even his fiancé, Brenior’s eyes widened somewhat in shock that the man would have gone so far. As far as Brenior recalled, to insult a man's wife or betrothed was suitable grounds to call for a duel. But it had been many years since he had married Aurien, and perhaps things had changed with the return of the king. Either way, before he could make any comment on the fact, Macardil had moved on to telling more about the Incident.

While Brenior hadn't quite intended to ask for more information, being unsure whether Macardil would want to talk about it, he was intensely curious, so he listened with interest. It was quite an intriguing tale, and difficult to make total sense of it. So, he had done the deed, but against his will? Brenior frowned slightly in confusion, trying to understand what Macardil was saying, exactly, and tried to think of all the tales of history he had ever heard, concerning the powers of the enemies that had troubled men and elves throughout time.

“You mean.. this enemy cast some spell on you?” He asked, as he tried to recall some of the things he had heard of witchcraft and sorcery. He'd heard tales from far off lands, about sorcerers and necromancers, and cursed lands and all sorts of things that he didn't know whether they were exaggerations or what. He tried to think of various tales of history he had learned growing up, about the dragons like Glaurung with the binding power of his hypnotic dragon-spell, cast by his gaze... and even some more recent tales about the wizard Saruman, holding the Rohirrim's king under some spell that kept him weakened.

“This enemy.. did he cause your eyes to perceive your friends as your enemies?” He asked, slightly confused as he tried to picture this. “Or, do you mean that he used some powerful spell of persuasion to make you believe that they were your enemies, rather than friends?” He was a little unsure since that didn't quite match with the bit about his hand being forced to do the act. “Or.. something along those lines?”

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

"Setbacks are part of the sport," Macardil replied thoughtfully to Trevadir's observations. "However, I would not dismiss him too readily." He nodded his head at Lord Talven. "The third clash was rougher on him," he shared with Trevadir. It was not difficult to see with his practiced eyes. "There can be a distinct difference in the way jousters sit upon their horse after a tilt. Do you recall how Lord Abrazimir rode back to his station after the second tilt? He was riding his horse, in complete control, swiftly demanding his next lance from his squire. After this latest hilt, Lord Talven was not so much riding his horse - he was only sitting on his mount, letting the horse take him back to his station." The difference was subtle, perhaps. But it was very much present.

When Trevadir asked about the Talvens, Macardil inspected their station more carefully. The difference in squire was noted, then, and Lord Himhathol tilted his chin slightly as he focused briefly on Toggornir. Given what he had learned yesterday, Macardil was... slightly amused. Would Trevadir mention anything to him of his own accord?

"Not much. I am not personally acquainted with them," he responded after a moment. "I know what any other Lord in these circles would know. Their names, their faces - how Lord Talven married the Taurhebor widow whose husband died many, many years ago." Blue eyes went to the stands momentarily, and he swallowed before continuing. "Toggornir is the Lord's son, but not the Lady's. The Lady's eldest son and the Taurhebor heir passed away much too young, due to an unfortunate accident. Her second son has disappeared - and is likely also dead." He halted there. Something nagged suddenly at the edge of his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp it enough to discern what it was trying to tell him. "Which has effectively turned the Taurhebor estate into the Talven estate, you could say. The Talvens have a daughter, as well. They still trade in lumber, as the Taurhebors did." It was not the most positive family history, especially not when recounted so succinctly and matter-of-fact. Torthon and Toggornir Talven sure had had much to gain from Torthon's marriage to Duvaineth. "The Lady is not in the best of health," he added, much more reflective all of a sudden, his mind unexpectedly very distracted from the jousting match, as well as from what he had been told the night before.

---

The day before, late evening

“This never gets any easier,” Macardil mumbled. “I suppose you could call it a spell. I do not even know how he did what he did. And the King did not offer a full explanation when he lifted it from me,” he shared with Brenior. He frowned and shook his head when Brenior asked his next questions. “No.” He closed his eyes. “I saw everyone as they were. But my body moved against my will.” Opening his eyes again, their deep blue invisible in the darkness, his jaw clenched. “If you think me a liar, Brenior, I understand. I might have had trouble believing it myself, if I had not lived it. And even so, if Envinyatar had not spoken to me - if he had not released me - I might have lost my mind. I could not speak of it, Brenior. I could not even try to explain. Not to anyone. Not until the King helped me.” Macardil gave the cartographer an apologetic look. “I am sorry. I am not doing very well in trying to explain it all to you.”

Gathering his composure, Macardil tried again. “In the midst of battle, the enemy leader used some sort of… sorcery. To force my hand against my commander. One moment I was battling the enemy leader - he whispered something into my ear, orders, I imagine, in some language I did not understand. And the next moment I was moving toward my commander, against my will. And I plunged my knife into the back of his neck.” His eyes were misty, but he pretended they were not. “I still… have nightmares about it. The way my knife… The way the life bled from his eyes as he looked at me in utter disbelief.” He resisted the urge to clear his throat. “In the dungeons, they came night after night, without fail. They are fewer, now.”

“After the… act… I could not speak of it. The rangers asked me questions, of course. The entire way home. But I could not answer them - my lips and tongue refused to move pertaining the subject. I could not apologize, I could not declare what had happened. And so, I spent months alone in my cell. Until finally, one ranger came to see me.” In the darkness. “And she figured it out. Took my story to the King.”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

Hearing the way Macardil explained the difference in how the two rode on their horses, Trev looked at them a little more closely, his brown eyes going first to one, then the other, to notice the difference in how they rode. It was not something he had really given much thought about, but now that Macardil mentioned it, he figured it made sense enough, and he nodded slightly. If he hadn't spent a little time on a horse himself, back a couple of months ago when he and Macardil came from Harlond together, then he wouldn't really have had a clue about any of that, but he did recall how much effort was actually involved in actually riding, versus just sitting on the horse. Personally, he was content to stay off of horses for the rest of his life.

Although, that did remind him of something Macardil might find a bit amusing. "When I arrived here," He mentioned quietly with a little smile, "Lord Dimaethor asked if my brother or I would be participating in the joust, and we said no. After we'd walked away, Toby asked me why I didn't sign up for it," He smirked slightly in amusement. "So, I told him, I fall off horses well enough without help.. and I didn't think it'd be fair to make it that easy for the other guy to win." A little grin broke through at that point. "Or something like that, anyway."

Listening then, as Macardil answered what he had asked about the Talven family, Trevadir nodded thoughtfully. Hearing about the two sons dying and disappearing made him frown slightly. He couldn't help thinking of Gael, and Arkadhur, and the sort of extortion and blackmail schemes the latter used to come up with, which Dev had had some parts in over the years. He wondered how long ago this disappearance took place.. and whether Arkadhur was still doing those sorts of things. He glanced toward the Talven's station, wondering if Toggornir had been close with his stepbrothers, and if so.. could that have something to do with his drinking?

But he put aside those thoughts until a better time for pondering them. "That's too bad." He commented in reply to the last part, about the lady being in poor health. He frowned at his own thoughts, unwilling to feel sympathy for the guy. If not for their encounter last night... He shook his head slightly and watched the jousters preparing to ride again. "Sorry, are my questions distracting you?" He suddenly worried, noticing how the tone of Macardil's voice had changed slightly. He definitely hadn't meant to be a distraction, as he figured it was useful for him to observe those he might be competing against later...

---

(The night before, with Macardil)
Brenior

As Macardil began to answer his inquiry, Brenior felt bad for having asked his questions without thinking of how difficult that must be for Macardil to talk about. He was further surprised to hear him suggest that Brenior thought he was lying. “You have never been one to tell lies, Macardil,” He replied with a small frown. “I don't believe you would be lying, now. For one thing, I would hope you would have come up with a much more believable story to tell, if this were all a lie,” He pointed out with a faint smile, hoping to make Macardil smile in return.

The tale, as it was explained further, brought a deepening sense of horror as he thought about what such a thing would be like. For a moment, he could only stare at his friend, though he tried not to let show how very sympathetic he felt toward him. For, that might be the exact opposite of what he wanted. Still…

“That sounds.. terrifying, to think of such a thing being possible,” He said softly, slightly shocked that even with the dark lord overthrown, their remaining enemies had such powers. Quietly, he reached out and rested a hand on Macardil's shoulder. “I am deeply sorry that it happened, and especially, that it happened to you.” He couldn't really think of any other words that would even suffice, and didn't know quite what to say about the nightmare part. And to think, yesterday, he'd thought his own troubles were a lot to bear…

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

He well remembered Trevadir's apprehension toward horses. A small but amused smile mastered his features. "It also would not do for you to be walking around bow-legged for a while in front of all these nobles," he said casually.

A brief laugh escaped him upon his friend's question. "Why yes. Yes, you are. It is quite alright, however. I am still watching." And he had seen both men jousting the day before. He needed no reminded that Lord Torthon Talven used his lance as a battering ram, and that Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor possessed the grit to ride every last Swan Knight into the dirt if he must. "It is merely... the Taurhebor family has had a rough few decades. Their family history has turned into a tragedy I would wish upon no one." Not even someone like Baradaer.

Well. On to the fourth tilt of the match.

On his other side, Macardil's squire was frowning. "If they continue this for much longer, and if by chance your match goes smoothly, my Lord, you might not have much competition on the morrow."

Macardil shook his head. "Where would be the honour in that, Ruthor? I would rather they did not impair one another. If I were to be granted the pleasure of participating in the finals, I would want it to be a fair contest." He smiled at the younger man. "And I would rather not be too heavily injured in my own match, later. Not because I cannot handle the injuries of the sport, but rather because it would worry Lady Ziranphel. And I wish to joy on her face rather than concern."

---

The day before, late evening

“You have never been one to tell lies, Macardil.”

He blinked and looked at Brenior. Brenior believed him. He… he'd even made a joke. The surprise kept Macardil from laughing, although his lips did curve into a half smile. When Brenior put a hand on his shoulder, his offered sympathy and support as clear as the unveiled stars, Macardil felt a burden lifting from him. “Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly, looking the man in the eye. “Thank you for believing me. For believing in me.” He reached out with his own hand to rest it on the man’s outstretched upper arm. “But what does this mean, now?”

“When the sun rises and the vipers leave their nests…” Macardil watched Brenior carefully. “What will you do, when you see me? When I greet you?” He knew that believing him was one thing - but taking a stand in front of the nobility was quite another.

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

He had to nod at the added comment Macardil made about walking around bow-legged. Yes, indeed, something like that would be a bit embarrassing around all these lords and nobles and knights and squires. He glanced briefly toward Macardil's squire, wondering what this guy was like, and hoped he wasn't one of the snooty sorts who thought they were better than others. He suspected not, since he couldn't imagine Macardil liking to work with someone like that, but it was hard to say, without knowing a person.

Trev was going to apologize for distracting Macardil, but he seemed to shrug it off, and said it was fine. He wasn't sure whether it really was fine or not, but decided to try not to ask so many questions from now on. He listened as Macardil and Ruthor spoke for a moment, and kept his own thoughts to himself. Though he didn't know much about the Talvens, aside from what Macardil had just told him, he had already decided he agreed with Macardil; he would rather Abrazimir won this match, though his reasons for it were a bit different. And, while he wasn't exactly on good terms with Abrazimir, he also hoped the guy wouldn't get battered too much more, today.

---

(The night before)
Brenior, with Macardil

Brenior wasn’t quite expecting the question that came next. While it caught him off guard, he realized it was also understandable that he would ask such a thing. If he had asked Brenior that earlier in the day, he might have found it far more difficult to answer. Especially, before having this talk with Macardil. But, given all that had transpired this evening, and the words that had passed between the two friends just now, he found it easy enough to give an answer without having to stop and think.

With a faint smile, he replied, “I will greet you as a friend, Macardil. Which,” He added, “I did want to do yesterday, only.. well, that is what else I was going to tell you.” He lowered his hand back to his side. “While there was a bit of concern in my mind about what others would think, that wasn’t the only thing that prevented me from speaking with you longer.” He explained. He had wanted to tell him this before, but hadn't had a chance until now. “There was so much going on, you see, and I had so much on my mind, we had just arrived, and we’d had a very, very long trip..” He shook his head slightly with a little sigh. “I mean, really… have you any idea how exhausting it is to travel for days, with a wife and four squabbling teenagers all squeezed into one carriage?” He inquired, a bit incredulous that he had managed to keep his sanity at all. He realized now that he ought to have made better traveling arrangements, and intended to make better arrangements by the time they returned homeward.

“Anyway,” He shrugged slightly. “I really did mean it, yesterday, when I said that we were worried about Caeleb, and needed to get him settled in. He’s never been so far from home, in fact, it’s the first time he’s really left home at all.. and Aurien and I were terribly worried about all the traveling and excitement being too much for him, and then.. the shock of seeing you, and not only that, but you’re betrothed to be married again?” He shook his head slightly in wonder. “So, yes... there was a great deal going on at that moment, almost too much to take in, and we still had to find our lodgings and we were both exhausted and exasperated..” He sighed. “I realized later that I had not even replied to something you asked me, and I apologize for that.” He let out a little sigh.

“But as for the ‘vipers’,” He added with a little smile. “Speaking with you tonight has put my mind at ease at last, and I am glad to finally know the truth.” Then he gave a little laugh. “Of course, I don’t intend to start any tavern brawls in your defense, as your other friend did, for that is not my way. But I will do what I can, in my own way. I will speak up in your defense if I hear anyone say aught against you, just as I was doing before the matter became undeniable.” He answered, relieved to know the truth now. Now, he could be more confident in speaking up in defense of his friend, since the facts were clear now.

[Ercassie]

@Rillewen

The young Lord Emeredir Azrubêl. Attended by Ruberon
In the Stand with the other young boys, to watch the Joust - Day 2.

Still standing, rising actually on his toes so that he might glean a better sight, the very young lord was startled by Iuldir’s greeting. Perhaps because he might have been belatedly conscious that he had not yet returned to his seat, and expecting to be instructed to do so. There were after all other spectators sat behind whom he might be obstructing. In a vain effort to look like he was not rushing, the boy made sure to remember himself, and where to sit back down.

“Good Morning,” he managed though, happily distracted from his concerns as the trio threw three separate hello’s at him. He offered a smile to the round of them all in return. “I very much hope so,” he admitted, honestly, when they asked if he might stay longer this day. A glance toward Ruberon saw an almost knowing look from the older man but there came no warning or curtail of the boy’s fervour. So he settled more soundly where he sat.

“I was surely sorry. They really did not even need me at home yesterday,” he confessed without sharing his family’s business. “But mother said a united front was important. And ladies ought not to be argued with. She said,” he made clear that this had not been his opinion, though apparently he had complied .


The second strike swiftly then stole all focus as the two knights come to a further collision, small shards of wood shearing through the air, even as the horses kicked up a curtain of dust in their wake. Emeredir inched so close to the edge of his seat, that he might have fretted he’d fall to the floor at his feet, if he had really noticed anything but the tournament before them.

“The competition is really heated up today,” he remarked then to the other boys, the likes of which comment he had heard men speak, when he’d witnessed training back at home. “Neither man wants to give at all,” he observed, with respect for both. Staying seated was no mean feat when strapped inside such a weight of armour. The blows too .. were not held in the slightest, for clearly both sides wanted the win. And as the boy recalled a need to breathe, Torthen and Abrazimir had already made ways to their respective stations to rebuild their charge.


“Do we have a favourite today ?” the boy wondered, aloud, to gauge the mood of his peers. Already he had decided of course, to cheer for Lord Abrazimir, but the fresh pairings could alter which knight his new friends might assign their hopes to. And while noone in their right mind should bet against the mettle of a Swan Knight, the last man to face Lord Talven had been carried off by assistants afterwards.

“It will be difficult for anything to match this excitement. Though my aunt did say I might regard the archery after,” the small lord squeezed his knees each underneath a hand, as the third ride commenced and showcased further of the two knights’ stamina and strength. A third collision of lances came and went with still no clear victim or victor. Merry scooched back, one side of his small rear and then the other was shuffled, until Ruberon was satisfied, and leaned back to his own place with a nod.

[Lantaelen]

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

Abrazimir hardly registered the arrival of his opponent’s son on the other side of the field, someone he had unhorsed and defeated just the day prior. For the third tilt, both he and Lord Talven once more came together in the very midst of the jousting arena, clashing with the usual burst of splinters and wood shards. Both competitors landed a blow, though both seemed to survive the onslaught as they circled the far end of the dividing fence and rode back around to their starting positions.

”Lance, lance, lance,” Abrazimir called out in haste, as Uirchanar rapidly handed him another, as the same was occurring across the field.

”Smart move, striking at his foundation.” Uirchanar remarked, just as the trumpets were raised for the fourth tilt. With a cry, Abrazimir urged his mount forward, immersing himself in the focus and determination. Keep his lance upright, only lowering it in advance of the moment of impact, where velocity mattered most… His aches, his throb, the taste of dripping blood in his mouth, all forgotten in the thrill of the rush and charge. He remembered his squire’s pointer though. Once more, as the two warriors came to meet in the center, Abrazimir aimed his lance once more at the lower end of Lord Talven’s shield, while trying subconsciously to raise his own shield against his opponent’s lance.

Once again, for the fourth time, both competitors met with an explosion of wood splinters and broken lances as each scored a hit. Abrazimir clenched his jaw as he felt the blow rock his form and posture, instinctively gripping with his hands and thighs to remain on his horse as his mind reeled. That much, he had learned, to keep second nature to him, when his thoughts and focus might become impaired from a hard blow. He shook off the disorientation in his vision as his horse brought him to the opposite end, casting a look upon Toggornir, before reeling Sirdal to return him to his starting position.

”Lance.” Abrazimir demanded, his hand outstretched. Uirchanar rushed to fill it with the weapon.

”A lucky, but bold second hit. But he’ll be expecting it this time.” Uirchanar advised. He looked over to Lord Talven and thought…something was off. But these sorts of competitions could be very decisive. Might think Lord Talven was weakened, but all it took was one strong blow to put his master, Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor in the sands.

Abrazimir though, found himself in these passive moments before the tilt, that his vision continued to blur and start to spin, if he had nothing to focus on. Or maybe just the suddenness of the charge distracted him from the disorientation still settling in from that bad, first hit he took. He had a narrow window to act before it really began to affect him. For the fifth time, the trumpets were raised and a clear note blown to, to signal the next tilt. No cry. No shout. Abrazimir and his horse hastened into a run as they charged along the fence towards his opponent, lance lowered. This time, he was going to aim for the upper part of the shield and hope that the weakened foundation might finally give out…

---

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

Well it was good to hear that Dulinneth’s governess was not shadowing them at present. Or hopefully later. Azraindil didn’t want to take someone else’s illness as some sort of positive sign. Still, it was a coincidence that aided their little conspiracy greatly. Plans that would have to wait though, as the third tilt began and the two competitors, Azraindil’s brother and Dulinneth’s father, rushed at one another. Dulinneth managed to answer her curiosity about the strange ring Abrazimir had given them, in that they would talk later. Azraindil cast Dulinneth a glance, her own curiosity immediately spiked by the further delay, but the two competitors made their pass with tremendous sound and effect.

Mutual hits, but no defeat or unhorsing yet, and both men returned to their beginning position. Only then did Azraindil follow up. ”Is it that serious?” She asked Dulinneth in a whisper. And yes, with other girls nearby, the two noble women having a private conversation was certainly starting to draw some curiosity from other. What could be so secretive? Do share. But seeing the look in her friend’s face, Azraindil wouldn’t even need a response from Dulinneth to confirm it’s gravity. She would speak about it later. Just…what could be so serious about a little ring? Any ole ring for that matter.

”I see your brother on the field.” Azraindil changed the topic, speaking a bit louder, to include others in her observation. They could see Toggornir handing a lance to his father. Azraindil tried to look upon him and see something…redeeming about him. Something worthwhile. It was quite the monumental task. She yawned instead, as both competitors were readied for the fourth tilt, which ended much the same as the third, both warriors landing a blow, but neither seemingly too affected. This time, Azraindil applauded politely with the rest of the crowd. It was still too early to make call-outs and verbal cheers.

”How is your attendant? Was it something she ate that made her feel poorly?” Azraindil inquired of Dulinneth. Hopefully not the food, that wouldn’t reflect well on the hosts if anyone got the slightest discomfort from it! ”Your mother is feeling better too? I should say hello later.” She mused aloud, turning to try and catch sight of Dulinneth’s mother. She was up there, with Azraindil’s own mother, Lady Orelnith and some other elderly, highborn women. Don’t stare too long though, they might summon Azraindil up for some sort of inspection or performance, showcasing their kid’s talent or traits. She quickly brought her eyes back to the sands, where the fifth tilt was about to begin. She didn’t know how much more her brother could take.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Torthon
Day 2 - Competing in the joust

As he rode out a fourth time, the blow struck in the same area as before. Torthon had tried to brace against it, but the impact was too forceful to do much about it. He grunted as the lance struck. His shield absorbed some of it, but not enough. The armor he wore took the rest of the impact, but it still wasn't pleasant to feel the powerful strike into his side. It nearly knocked the wind out of him, though he put forth all the effort he could into not doubling over on that side. Staying on his horse, staying upright, that was what mattered the most at the moment.

Arriving at his station, Torthon drew in a few gasping breaths after raising his visor, but kept his face turned so that those in the stands, and especially his competitor, would not see it... in case he wore a pained expression. "Any.. information.. would be helpful," He mentioned pointedly, since Togg had competed against this very same knight only yesterday. His side had hurt a lot after the last pass, and now it had been struck a second time. He worried he could have a broken rib, but hoped it wasn't that severe.

Togg looked up at him, a lance in hand that he was about to pass to his father. He was caught by surprise at the request for information, and had to think for a second. "Aim for his center?" He suggested, unsure what else to say.

Rolling his eyes, Torthon took the lance. "So helpful." And he wondered why Torthon had said he was not ready to compete in such a competition. He shook his head slightly and turned his horse to go out for a fifth time. It was getting harder to stay on his horse with each pass, but he was determined to try and win. Yesterday's competition had been much easier, and he'd already forgotten the name of the guy he was against then.

As the trumpet blew again for the fifth time, Torthon didn't have enough time to catch his breath properly. He kicked his heels and rode out again swiftly. His big black horse, Ebony, charged along the fence divider, toward the other. Abrazimir's lance appeared to be aimed for the lower part, again. Striking at that same spot a third time! Torthon was quite unwilling to take any more damage in that spot, and prepared to drop his shield slightly to counter the blow a bit better. Therefore.. he was not expecting the lance to be aiming more for the upper part of his shield.

Anticipating the blow in the lower region of his shield, he ended up moving it down, which left him a little more open to attack in the area that would normally have been covered by his shield. Abrazimir's lance hit the top edge of his shield and slammed it into an angle. The lance's tip struck him quite hard on the shoulder and glanced off of his chin. Before he knew it, he was landing heavily on the sand, stunned by the impact, while his horse thundered on a little way without him.

---

@Lantaelen

Dulinneth Talven
Day 2 - in the box with Azrain

Linn wasn't sure if 'serious' was quite the word to use for what she had to say... secretive would be a better description. She didn't give a reply.. partly because she didn't want too much whispering to draw attention, but also because she wasn't quite sure what to reply to that. "Oh, she didn't come at all." She answered Gaer's question about her governess. "I'm not really sure what's wrong with her. She was feeling very ill, and mother told her she needn't come along with us. I hope she's recovering, but I won't know anything until we return home after all of this is over." She explained. While it was concerning, it was also, in a way, a slight blessing. It would make this event significantly more enjoyable, not having to have her governess lurking around all the time, telling her to do this or not do that.

"Yes.. I believe my mother's feeling a little better today," She answered, uncertain. She hadn't had any dizzy spells yet today, as far as Linn knew. And she hadn't complained of any problems, but it was still early in the day. Her attention was diverted to the clash of lances on shields, and she winced slightly as she imagined how much force there must be behind all that impact. It must hurt... but then, they were wearing armor, so maybe it didn't hurt as much as she thought it might. Hopefully. She leaned forward, nodding absently as Gaer commented about her brother. Not the brother she wished she could see out there. She held back a sigh, trying to see whether her father looked injured.

Maybe there was a part of her that wanted her father not to win today, so that he would not have to compete again tomorrow. Then again, maybe she'd had a bit more influence by her other brothers, who had always been quite happy to cheer for whomever Torthon was competing against, rather than him. Since he usually acted as if he barely knew Linn was alive, unless it was to reprimand her for something which might reflect badly on him, she was hardly close with her father. Still, she didn't want to see him hurt.

So, as she watched the fifth pass play out, she gasped softly as she watched the lance strike him in such a way that she almost thought it looked like it hit his neck. He hit the sand and lay still. Linn leaned forward, holding her breath anxiously, then cast a brief glance up toward her mother. She had done similarly, peering down intently at her husband who lay unmoving on the sand, a look of obvious concern on her face. Linn looked back down at her father. Was he knocked out? Or...

Togg hurried over to him after a moment had passed, and kneeled beside to check on him. Then, to both Talven ladies' relief, Torthon stirred after a moment and slowly sat up with help from his son. Linn let out the breath she had been holding and sank back into her seat in silent relief. "Your brother's the winner, then," Linn mentioned to Gaer, a bit gladder now that her father was out of the contest, after what had appeared to her like a close call.

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

He could hear the haste in Abrazimir's repeated request for a lance, since the Dimaethor station was closest to their end of the arena, though he could hear nothing of the squire's reply. Abrazimir was eager. His verbal cry in spurring on his horse, and himself, proved that. Macardil could see it in the way the knight was riding. In the set of his shoulders. The angle of his armoured boots.

The fourth tilt had his hands tightening on the wooden beam surrounding the arena. "This... was a bad hit for both," Macardil assessed quietly.

Ruthor looked worried. "If they keep at this for much longer, today's victor might not be able to compete at all upon the morrow, my Lord."

Macardil was silent, tense, as both competitors wheeled back to their stations and were handed new lances by their squires.

Leaning forward, Ruthor looked past Macardil to Trevadir. "Five passes is not very commonplace," he explained. "The risk at injury increases sensitively with every tilt, because the jousters tire quickly with the repeated heavy strikes... And these two have been consistently hitting each other rather roughly." Except for that one time...

When Lord Torthon Talven hit the sands upon the fifth tilt, Macardil released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. For a moment, he glanced at the sky. As if sending some sort of silent prayer or thank you to the heavens. Perhaps. He looked down at the beam he had a death grip on, and slowly let go to then loosely replace his hands upon it.

When Lord Talven stood with the help of his son, Macardil nodded grimly. Good. Hurt, the man might be - probably was - but not too impaired to stand, at least. Macardil clapped with respect and admiration for both contestants. "A fine match," he commented genuinely. "From the both of them."

---

The day before, late evening

He actually managed a grin when Brenior spoke of the challenges of traveling in one carriage with four ‘squabbling teenagers’. His expression sobered as the cartographer spoke of Caeleb and their concerns for him. “A difficult day for many, yesterday,” he finally observed, with a faint smile.

He lightly clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I forgive you. If you will forgive me for not at least writing to you with some sort of explanation after I was released.” Macardil had, after all, left the proverbial ball entirely in everyone else’s court. And even though he still stood by some of his reasons for that, he now realized that he had not left his friends with an easy ask.

He returned to all the things Brenior had mentioned, one matter at a time. “And well… I have no idea of what such travel is like. But you have my sympathies in turn.” One day, he did hope for children. Brenior had quite the head start on him there. “You must share all of your secrets at some point, my friend. Or at least prepare me for such challenges. For even if I understand your surprise, it is beyond a doubt that I am indeed betrothed.” Even though it had been many years since Mellaurel’s passing, Brenior had known her. He had seen them together - knew how passionate Macardil had been about her. After she passed, no one would have thought there could ever be anyone else. “It took me by surprise, as well. But she is the ranger who came to see me in my cell. She saved me.” His smile did not falter, then. “And caught me entirely off guard.”

“Speaking of Ziranphel - she... She does not know about the nightmares. I do not want to burden her, since there is nothing she can do. They have lessened greatly, and have only come few and far in between in these last few months. But I would prefer not to add such a thing to her list of concerns. Can you keep this between us?”

This brought him to the next point. “As for defending me…” He frowned slightly. “I would ask something more of you. I asked the same of Ziranphel. She wanted to speak up for me and make some declaration of the true events.” His face lit at the recollection. “I asked her to only answer direct questions, rather than offer the full story to any whom she believes need to hear. I ask you now to do the same. I wish to know who of my former friends and acquaintances will give the greater value to what they have always known and believed of me. Rather to what they have heard recently.” Macardil slanted his head. “You have proven a true friend, Brenior. And for that I am infinitely grateful. That at least one person in these circles thought better of me than the rumours claimed.” His frown deepened all of a sudden. “Wait --"

"A tavern brawl in my defense?” That could - really - only be one person, could it not? Who else would or could be so easily pegged as his friend, at this point? Who else would not shy away from a fight at an event like this?

“Trevadir?”

[Ercassie]

Airelen, with her parents Lady Gaelanna of House Estennin and Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron, of Lond Col.
Attended by Lotte and an armoured Guard. Stood amongst the Non-Noble audience. To watch the Joust – Day 2

They had, quite purposely, delayed their arrival; to avoid association with those folk who would gather moreso attention. For very different reason. All the same it had to be said that their belated collective was atypical enough to hold attention for it’s own sake.

The younger woman for a one, stood straight as a pillar, swathed in a gown of deepest shadow. She stepped demurely beneath the curtain of long skirts which concealed any motion save her progress; a habit which was not at all unheard of in decent society. But the hue of her garb was a sobering lack of all vibrancy, designed to have the gossamer but gloom-coloured veil not look out of place. In the entire get-up, it was plausible for people to assume she was in mourning, her face covered to conceal the expected upset and emotion. In this, etiquette provided some protection from her having to embark on conversation or else interaction at all. What had been done to her face, by an Umbarian, was not something which she was comfortable showcasing.

It was therefore a wonder that she had ventured into such a joyous and glad occasion at all then. Certainly Gael was not of a like to wander far from her home these days and, although that home was within Lond Col itself, she had not been to the Dimaethor side of the estuary before. The cause for her decision this day was both due to what she was leaving behind at home, and also what she had brought with her, grasped in one anxious, but ungloved, hand.


Airelen had never been to this side of the estate either, though she clearly had not been cursed by the same inhibitions as her mother. Gaily festooned in a dress of budding, brighter, blue, the five year old skipped and skittered across an unseen pattern of stepping stones, singing to herself with no care who might hear her. A golden ribbon had been threaded across the crown of her dark hair, the safest decoration she would be unlikely to lose. But already her small slippers had been discarded and were clasped by an armoured gauntlet of the guard who tailed her wordlessly.

Warder held Airelen’s other hand, so that the child was safely nestled between he and his wife, with no small hand free to lift her skirts above the ankle as she had been doing earlier that morning, with no care. There was, of course, some degree of relief to be found, in the lack of all significance their group appeared to offer to the event. By rights, none should look their way at all. The man had no cause for his official uniform this day, yet still had not been able to refuse the house colours he was loyal to. Blue and gold were hard shades to downplay but somehow he managed it. As though long years of practice had ensured it, Warder all but buried himself deep beneath the duty and loyalty he wore proudly. It would have been improper, in his mind, to gaze unabashed at his wife, in public, but the two managed to extend a glance at their young charge, and find comfort and confidence in one another, briefly but often enough. They had prepared together, mentally, and extensively, for how difficult this excursion might prove. But there had been no choice. Not after what had happened the day before.


The last of their number was Lotte, lady’s maid to the Lady Isys. She had on this occasion however, answered Lady Eressild’s ask that there be two lady’s maids to attend to the two more senior ladies Azrubel, now seated in the stands. Eressild of course had her Elen frever on hand, but Sirdis did not like to bother with such protocols at home, unless they had guests. And any social gathering meant pulling out all the stops. Despite this, Lotte had seen fit to linger rather than rush away from the group she had walked over with.

They were, as it turned out, stood directly opposite the noble stand, which meant an enviable and dually perilous position. Most of the mounted collisions would occur right in front of them. For this reason, as well as others, the group had held back from the front railing. So that the small girl had turned, and rebelliously worked her small palm out of her father’s hand in order to tug on the armoured gauntlet of their silent, armoured sentinel instead. Handing the child’s slippers to Warder, that wordless escort did not ask, nor hesitate, before hoisting Airelen up onto their sheltered shoulders, and supporting her there, for a better view of all the action.


Gael and Warder did not venture any objection to this, and the crowd were far too focused on the joust to care. In any case, there was chance now from the married couple to .. well, not hold hands .. of course. Gael was still 'officially' a noble, after all, even if her relatives had decided not to affirm this fact since her return. She and her husband could still let a hand each hang loose and close to that of their spouse. Very small and natural movements amidst the jostling throng meant that there were moments when their hands bumped gently against one another. Everyone was watching the knights, not them. Behind her veil, Gael could indulge in a smile, and she knew from the warmth and the repetition of the meagre contact, .. that her husband was glad for their touch as well. He was very subtle in his affections for her, the very opposite of how her previous captor had been. And so for all the absence of fanfare, it was both custom for her lost class, and comfortable even for her renewed circumstances.


“Now that .. is a good win,” Lotte sighed happily, as the young lord Dimaethor thundered past them with a final victorious flourish of his lance against his rival. “Such a champion, that man. Ah, if I were but a few years younger ..” the lady’s maid chuckled to the helmeted guard, who did not respond.

“What is butterfew ?” little Airelen asked, more confused by the matter than adding any sort of sly remark to tease their older companion. It was, nonetheless, to their testament that her devout guardians were practiced in guarding their amusement in public.

“Oh see, over there is Ruberon,” Warder mentioned, quietly, directing attention to Lotte's beloved husband.

“And Merry !” Airelen gleefully joined in, observing their young lord who Ruberon was attending, over in the noble stands. The excitable young girl waved with no regard, across to where the noble boys were sitting.

“He’s Lond Col,” Lotte defended herself, or rather - her awe at their young handsome neighbour, rather needlessly, but all the same. “It’s loyalty. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Indeed there is not,” added Gael who had joined in the crowd's widespread applause for Abrazimir as the tilt came to conclusion. “I hope he is not badly hurt,” she could not help but fret though. That first strike the knight had suffered in particular had caused her to pale in privacy. He was a friend.

“He is hardy,” her husband assured her, without turning. The reassurance was evident for all that, in his tone. “Fear not. He will not fall.”

Behind a gold-gilded helmet, the splendidly armoured guard of their party offered a small but certain nod to that effect.

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie

Caeleb, Iuldir & Tobedir
In the lower row of the box, a bit apart from the girls in the same row

As their new friend declared how he had not even been needed at home the day prior, the older boys gave varying nods or looks of understanding. "Parents are like that," Caeleb sighed. "Or at least, mine are." He gave a cautious glance toward the girls. His cousin had assured his mother she would 'keep an eye on him' which was far preferable to his mother doing the same. Still, he didn't dare look up to the stands to see what he knew he would see; his mother would be keeping her own eye on him, as subtly as she could manage without it being blatantly obvious. He figured if he dared a look up toward her, the action might actually summon her to come and fuss over him.

"My grandmother agrees about that one," Toby couldn't help a little laugh as Merry mentioned that 'ladies ought not be argued with'. "But at least you're here now!" He added cheerily.

"You didn't really miss a great deal yesterday," Iuldir added, hoping to make him feel less cheated for having to leave early. "Caeleb and I didn't get to do very much after supper, anyway. But, perhaps today, we can remedy that." He added with a sly, almost mischievous glance at his chair-bound friend.

Their conversation was paused for a moment, as the horsemen below collided together yet again. All the boy's attentions were focused down on the sands for a moment, watching as they each rode to their stations. "Wow. That must be difficult." Caeleb commented.

The inquiry about who they preferred left the older three glancing at each other. Caeleb was the one who spoke first. "I haven't got a favorite for this match, really." He explained.

"Right, but we're cheering for Lord Himhathol in the next one," Toby made sure to state. "Or at least, I am. He's a friend of my brother's."

"And of my father," Caeleb added with a grin. "So I will be cheering for him, too."

"I don't really know the guy, but I'm going along with them." Iuldir put in, to make his own standing clear. "As for this match, well.. we don't really know very much about these two," Iuldir explained, for himself and Toby.

"I suppose, between the two, I would cheer for Sir Abrazimir, for he is the son of our host here." Caeleb glanced ever-so-briefly up toward where the lords were seated, his father among them, and then returned his gaze to Merry. "What about you?"

At the mention of archery, Caeleb was a little surprised. "Are you competing in the archery? Or only watching?" He wondered, curious about that. He cast a side glance toward where his sister and cousin were sitting between them and the other girls, though much nearer to the girls than to the boys. He leaned a little closer toward Merry. "My cousin Dina over there says she used to use a bow a little, before she came to live with us. But she said she hardly even remembers how, so she's not going to compete." He added, slightly disappointed. "My father doesn't think girls ought to do those sort of things." He shrugged. "And I don't think I can do things like that."

"I bet you could," Iuldir disagreed, glancing at Caeleb thoughtfully. "A shortbow, perhaps. Or.. like if you hold it like this," he mimicked holding a bow so it was horizontal rather than vertical. "I don't know how to shoot, exactly, but I bet it could be done. If you wanted to." He paused, thinking. "Maybe, next time I write to my cousin, I ought to ask her about that. But, anyway.." He shrugged. "Do you know anything about that sort of thing, Merry?"

Just about that time, the trumpet blew for yet a fifth time. The fifth pass, however, brought the match to a dramatic end as lord Talven lay sprawled on the ground. As Caeleb and Iuldir gasped softly, Toby cringed and glanced briefly toward the girls, noticing Dulinneth Talven leaning close to the rail with a concerned look on her face. He was glad, for her sake, when the fallen man slowly arose, aided by his son. The trio then eagerly applauded the victor of the match, glad that they had chosen the right one to cheer for.

---

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

Glancing at Macardil, Trev half wondered how much the other guy was seeing that Trev was not. A bad hit for both? He looked toward Abrazimir, but he thought he had seemed.. more anxious to rush back out onto the sand. Not like someone who was hurt, but someone who was anxious to get back into the fighting. Looking toward the other man, he thought he looked very slightly bent-over to one side, but it was difficult to be sure from here. But he didn't think that either looked as if they'd been terribly hurt.

Yet, Ruthor's comment made him feel a bit more concerned about how things might go for Macardil. He wondered whether the guy he would be facing, would be just as vicious as these two were toward each other. And, he half wondered if there was some sort of grudge between the two out there now, which might explain their apparent aggression. As Ruthor leaned forward and spoke to him, Trev glanced at him and listened, nodding slowly at the explanation.

Finally, the match concluded with Talven being unhorsed. In fact, it might almost have been comical to see the lance knock him off his horse, except it did look a bit painful, and the guy didn't move for several seconds. Yet, he was inwardly glad that it had been Lord Talven, rather than Abrazimir, who had lost the match. Mostly, because Abrazimir was who Macardil had said he hoped would win. But also, perhaps, a bit because of Trev's interaction with the younger Talven, the prior night.

---

@Arnyn

(The night before, with Macardil)
Brenior

His smile widened to hear that Macardil forgave him, and he felt a weight lift from his chest. As Macardil replied about the children, Brenior let out a little laugh. “Sadly, it was mostly my own two causing the biggest headache,” He admitted. “Those two really have a difficult time getting along, but.. that isn’t the best topic to visit.” He decided it best not to scare his friend with tales of the horrors involved in raising children, as he then spoke of hopefully having some of his own, someday. “I wish you well in that regard,” He added with a smile, knowing how Macardil and Mellaurel had wished for children that they were never blessed with. Perhaps, he would have better luck with this new wife.

It was a slight surprise to hear that his betrothed was, in fact, the same ranger who had saved him from the dungeon. It was nice to hear that, though, and brought a small smile to his face. Then, as Macardil requested that he not speak of the matter of nightmares, Brenior nodded. “Of course, that will remain a secret between us.” He assured Macardil. Not the first secret they had kept between them, and possibly not the last, either.

As he made another request, Brenior listened curiously, and nodded. A somewhat strange request, he thought, but he could see the reason behind it. And it did seem like just the sort of thing that Macardil would want, even if it meant things went harder on himself because of it. “As you wish,” He agreed. “I will keep that in mind.” He was glad to hear that he had proven a true friend, and though yesterday’s encounter had left him feeling less than such, the guilt of what he had failed to do faded away now and he felt some relief in its place.

Then, noticing the reaction his friend showed at the mention of the fight in the tavern tent, Brenior was somewhat surprised as well. “Oh.. you haven't heard about that?” He asked, having somehow assumed that word of it would have reached Macardil by now. “It happened… oh, maybe an hour ago, perhaps more. I thought you would have heard something about it, considering... but then, maybe everyone who was involved were hoping the word won't spread, and the matter would be forgotten.” He explained, wondering now if he ought not have brought it up, but it was too late now. And the other man was sure to hear something about it at some point, anyway, so probably best if he had a heads up.

“I don’t know the young man’s name, but I assumed he must be a friend of yours, given how vehemently he defended your reputation,” He smiled faintly. “Also, I remember seeing you speaking with him earlier, after your turn on the sands today. The young man with the straw hat, yes?”

[Arnyn]

@Rillewen

Lord Macardil Himhathol
Joust: Day 2 - Watching the first match

After finishing his applause for Abrazimir as the victor, despite the slight concern for the man that he could not quite shake, Macardil shared a look with Ruthor. The squire nodded at his lord and then to Trevadir before turning to disappear into the small pavilion nearby.

Macardil's gaze turned to Trevadir. "My armour needs to be completed," he explained the reason behind his swiftly following retreat. "Final preparations for my match against the knight from Pelargir. You are very welcome to stay here, if you wish. Even if Ruthor and I will be busy until after the match." He smiled at his young friend, truly glad to have him here, although Macardil also really wished that the events from last night had not transpired. He briefly put a hand on Trevadir's shoulder, seemed to want to add something else, but then seemed to change his mind just as swiftly. With a small nod and a lingering albeit faded smile, the hand fell away and Macardil stepped toward and into the tent himself.

---

The day before, late evening

“Trevadir,” he confirmed with a slight nod and a sigh after Brenior’s reply. “I have not heard, no. I was making preparations with Ruthor for tomorrow’s jousting match.” This news concerned him, for he did not wish Trevadir to complicate his own life just for him. The young man had enough trouble without also having to worry about Macardil, after all.
“What do you know of what happened? Did you see it with your own eyes? I hope Trevadir has not brought undue trouble upon himself on my behalf?” He wanted to rub a hand over his face, but refrained. “Perhaps I really should talk to him about there being a time and place for a brawl… And that Belfalas is never the place…” He cast a glance at Brenior. “He does not know the rules of dueling, I think.” Slight amusement, but it faded quickly. “Who did he quarrel with?”

[Rillewen]

@Arnyn

Trevadir
By the rail with Macardil & Ruthor

After returning a brief nod to Ruthor, Trev smiled slightly at Macardil and nodded as he explained. "Yeah, I was just thinking you'd probably have to finish getting ready." He had no idea how much time there might be in between the matches.. would they launch right into the next one? Or would they give a brief intermission? Surely, they'd anticipate that the guys participating in the matches would want to be able to watch the other matches, and would allow time in between for them to do so and all of that.

"Good luck, Macardil," He added as his friend put a hand on his shoulder. "And try to keep your helmet on, this time." He couldn't resist a teasing remark, then grinned slightly as he watched him start off toward his tent. He had thought for a second that he was going to say something else, but then he didn't. Trevadir shrugged it off, figuring it was his imagination. Still, he was glad to hear that it would be fine for him to stay here, though he also thought this might be a good time to go grab a drink. Maybe one for Macardil too, in case he got thirsty jousting. And Ruthor. It seemed rude to leave him out, after all. Since they'd already gone into the tent, he decided to just go and and do that, and try to get back in time before the match got started.

---

@Arnyn

(The night before
Brenior with Macardil)

Of course, Macardil would be wrapped up in preparing for tomorrow’s match. Brenior had no such preparations to make, and so had not really thought about how much effort one must put into it. Hoping he had not been in error for having mentioned the brawl, he glanced toward the waves below, watching them crash against the rocks for a moment as Macardil asked him about the fight. “I saw a part of it. Not everything, but enough.” He replied, and looked back at his friend. “Perhaps it was not the best place for it, but it was admirable, all the same. Or, at least, I thought so.” He shrugged slightly and folded his arms comfortably as he prepared to recount the ordeal.

“You know Lord Talven, or know of him, yes?” He asked. “It was his son, who competed against Abrazimir this morning.” He explained. He did hope that no trouble would come to the young friend of Macardil’s because of this, but he also thought it was well-deserved on the part of the other young man. “I missed what was actually said to prompt it all, but I gathered enough of it from the rest of what they said.” He explained. “Apparently, Young Lord Talven had been drinking more than he ought to, which is no big surprise from what I hear.. and he began saying absurd things about you.” He scoffed. “All ludicrous, of course. But, it seems he had a few like-minded drunkards sitting with him, and agreeing with him, and they got a bit noisy with their ridiculous accusations... and that was when your friend heard their slanderous words.”

“Trevadir,” he repeated the name Macardil had given, “then marched right up to young Toggornir and demanded that he take back his foul accusations and speak no more ill of his friend. He declared, without any reservations, that you are a far better, and nobler man than Toggornir could ever aspire to be, and that he didn’t care who young Talven happens to be... that he had better mind his words more carefully in the future. Or something to that effect. It was about that time that I was happening by the tavern tent, and hearing your name mentioned, I paused to listen at the edge of it all.”

Though not inclined toward fighting, himself, Brenior had to admire the young man’s loyalty, as well as bravery for standing up to one such as Talven. “There were a great deal more angry words passed back and forth, both young men were being quite stubborn in sticking to their own beliefs, and before long, it came to blows. I did worry he might be arrested for assaulting a nobleman..” He paused, checking his assumption, “I suspect he is not one, himself?" He could hardly imagine the young man in the battered straw hat and simple clothing would be among the nobility.

"Which," he went on, "could go badly for him, I fear, if Toggornir has any grounds to press charges against him.” Such as, if Trevadir had struck the first blow, Toggornir could claim assault, and have the other arrested, or at least banned from the estate grounds, or something of the sort. He did hope that wouldn’t happen, for it had been in defense of a friend that the incident had happened at all. A friend who was a nobleman, and should never have been having his name slandered like that in the first place.