Dol Amroth, Pelargir, The Southern Fiefdoms (Free RP) - II

[Ercassie]

If you do like to play around the seaside ….

Belfalas / Dor-En-Ernil

The legendary fiefdom of Belfalas is almost synonymous on many maps with the land called ‘Dor-En-Ernil’ (Land of the Prince), a principality of Numenorean settlers since long before the drowning of that ill-fated isle. Even now this southernmost fief of modern-day Gondor is presided over initially by the Princes of Dol Amroth who were traditionally known as the Princes of Belfalas; descendants of a founding family of Faithful settlers related to the Numenorean royalty. Rumour has it that the blood of Belfalas has then since intermingled with the Elves of neighbouring Edhellond, for Imrazor, an early Prince of Belfalas, took for his wife the elfmaiden Mithrellas, handmaiden to fair, woeful Nimrodel. The region is thus steeped in song and mystery, not least the promontory seaward base of Dol Amroth, it's greatest city. Named for the Elf King of Lorien who drowned in the harbour in despair as he was separated from his beloved during a wild storm that thwarted their attempts to sail away together.

The assumed borders of Belfalas now range from the merchant city of Linhir in the east to the Elvish ruins of Edhellond in the west, south of Lamedon and the Blackroot (Morthond) Vale. A range of hills that seek to cause division through the domain are locally referred to as the Emyn Ernil. The lands of Belfalas/Dor-En-Ernil are a traditional patchwork of flourishing estates many still overseen by ancient noble houses who all owe their allegiance, and a promise of men at arms in time of war, in service to their liege; the Prince of Dol Amroth.


Dol Amroth

The city of Dol Amroth is built about a natural peninsula, thrust into the beautiful surrounding Bay.of White Ships. Here the Prince rules from his Castle over the ancient harbours, the affluent industries, and the everyday life of his beloved people. The richest families in Dol Amroth are come of Second-born sons who could not/did not inherit their family estates in the more rural spread of Belfalas/Dor-En-Ernil. The infamous Swan Knights are the elite royal guard of the Prince. And the rest of the city is a myriad of life, each specialist in their distinct profession.

Near the Cove of White Ships, where the naval fleet of Prince Imrahil is housed, lie the Fleet Halls; a long established barracks, accommodating unmarried and retired mariners. The Sea-Drake, a three story inn, boasts some of the best seafood dishes in Dol Amroth, on a modest budget while Middle Port is home to the vast working class of coopers, smiths, carpenters, rope-makers, tanners and pitch-layers who reside and labour about the working harbour. Various Guilds officiate here; centres all and each of excellence. Where it comes to shipwrights, sailmakers, and navigators any Captain will be swamped for choice, and catered to by the best in the business. While The Jolly Juggler tavern retains its bawdy crowd, with gambling a favourite amidst other forms of less than desirable late night entertainment. For sailors in the know it is ‘the place’ for revelry.

New Port is Dol Amroth's commercial harbour, catering to all visiting vessels. It's warehouses and markets are capable of handling the city's tremendous and varied volumes of commerce. But the sprawling markets that line the narrow streets are nothing compared to the House of Many Splendours, which sells almost anything you can think of, including some exotic items that are high priced and hard to get in Dol Amroth. Rumours of smuggling abound, as do tales of the sea-cave and the tunnel built beneath the Sloop & Swordfish inn across the street...

Above the Old Town and below the Castle Quarter resides a large series of terraced buildings and winding streets. This area is known as the Cliffs, for here the steepness of the Hill provides little room for construction. While it is a generally residential neighbourhood, the upper reaches cater to the castle garrison and contain numerous taverns and game halls. The richest of these is the House of Tables, which strives for affluent dominance against The Merchants' Exchange (a co-operative money lender) and also The Dol Amroth Auction House. Establishments so fair and fine to rival the Prince’s Castle, with it’s promenade fashioned for jousts; which sport brings spectators and competitors from miles around.

(Creative credit for much of the above locations/imaginings is due to Naith’s original thread on old plaza, with the greatest of respect)



Lebennin

The province of Lebennin slopes down from mountainous Lossarnach in the north, all the way down to the Bay of Belfalas, in the sea of the south. The immense domain of Ithilien lies east, across the Anduin River, and the majestic colony of Belfalas and Dor-en-Ernil, ruled by Prince Imrahil sits to it’s west.

The name of Lebennin translates as the ‘land of five rivers’, which enrich this fertile, green region, west of the mighty River Anduin. The first of these streams (from right to left) is the Erui, followed by the Sirith, Celos, Serni and Gilraen. A prominent point of history in Gondor played out in Lebennin during the Kinstrife, when King Eldacar slew the usurper Castamir, at the Battle of the Crossings of the Erui. A further year long siege was then held at the harbour city of Pelargir, until Castamir’s sons and their surviving supporters fled on ships and finally fled to found a lasting refuge for all ‘corsairs’ out in Umbar.


Pelargir

Pelargir and Linhir are the two infamous cities of Lebennin; the former located where the Sirith marries the even more famous River Anduin. Pelargir is known as the ‘Garth of Royal ships’, due to it’s significance in defending inland Gondor from assault by sea. It has been a major harbour since the days of Numenor, and retains that reputation for the delta of Ethir Anduin, just southward of Pelargir, opens into the ocean. The city has not forgotten its mighty naval traditions, nor the long occupation by the sons of Castamir, some of the most prominent shiplords of Gondor, when the prime coastal location meant it was most difficult for the King to keep his enemies from being supplied by sea. After the departure of these aggrieved sailors, Pelargir was later ravaged by returning Corsairs in TA 1634, murdering the then King Minardil of Gondor. It is possible that more than simply goods are smuggled through its watery gates and rumours yet remain that Pelargir to this day still houses as many secret sympathisers towards enemies of the realm as it does stoic supporters of the current Crown.

Linhir

Linhir is the second and the lesser-known of the two cities, nesting where the Serni meets the Gilraen. Similar to it’s sister outpost in the east, Linhir is a point where ships may dock, although the passage is not so wide a thoroughfare as the grand River Anduin. For that reason, Linhir is come to be more a trading hub, where imports and exports may arrive/depart both east and west, for journey throughout Gondor, and beyond. It is protected by the Gondorian navy of Pelargir on one side, and the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth on the other.


Anfalas

The most westerly fiefdom of Gondor is Anfalas (‘Long shore’), or Langstrand. Similarly dual-named, this region lies between the Rivers Lefnui and Morthond; between the lush green hills of Pinneth Gelin and the sea to the south. It is, not unlike it’s neighbour Belfalas, rich in rumour of Elvish ruins and remnant. Hunters though, herders and fishermen now dominate the land, which has found it’s appeal exposed to raids by Corsairs of Umbar.

It was on account of such raids that King Telumehtar went forth in days of old, and seized the enemy port-city of Umbar, in a vengeance. But it was under the local leadership of Golasgil, that the rustic folk of Anfalas made their long march in efforts to defend Gondor during the War of the Ring.



Edhellond

Edhellond was an ancient coastal home which came about at the very end of the First Age. It is named in Sindarin for ‘Elf-Harbour’, since the first inhabitants were a small group of sea-faring Sindar fleeing from the devastation of Beleriand. These, along with their brethren who had dwelt inland, in Doriath, before it’s fall; chose not to dwell in other Noldor-led settlements such as Lindon or (later) Eregion. They were slowly joined by Silvan and other Elves who travelled down river from Lothlorien and Greenwood, to reach and admire the Sea. Particularly more so after Sauron’s occupation of Eriador/sack of Eregion in 1697 SA, and again after the emergence of the Balrog, Durin’s Bane, at Moria in 1980 TA.

It is said that Edhellond was for years abandoned then by the Elves, as those who remained in Middle Earth were secluded away in their isolated kingdoms, readying for the day that they too would face the Sea-longing or else a slow dwindling out of all sight and story of Mankind. However, following the War of the Ring in 3019 TA, the newly crowned King Aragorn Elessar took the Half-Elven Princess Arwen Evenstar of Imladris to be his Queen in Gondor. Elves thus in the new Fourth Age began to make pilgrimages back along the long forgotten ways to Edhellond, and especially in accordance with Prince Legolas Lasgolan of the Woodland Realm, who incited a great influence of his people to mingle as their kind had of old, with the Gondorian descendants of the ancient Faithful from Numenor.



Thread Rules
1) Please state your location at the top of your post, as this thread incorporates a large number of possible settings. Feel free to also include the approximate year, if significant/flashback etc.
2) Mark your posts as ‘Private’ if you do not want any unplanned interactions from other writers to affect your RP.
3) Please white out any brief OOC note, or take any non-IC questions/concerns etc to City Hall/discord, etc
4) Please explore Middle Earth based rp in this thread. It doesn’t have to be strictly ‘canon’ but please keep it believable for the very wide expanse of Tolkien’s fantastic world-building.
ie no drinking cans of Dr Pepper, use of time travel, or wielding guns, etc.
5) Enemies of Gondor are of course welcome to participate in this thread, but please do remember that there would be some manner of local law enforcement present in the cities at least. I very much encourage you to demonstrate how clever your character is, if they do attempt thrilling and dastardly schemes with a believable risk of getting caught. You are absolutely welcome to outwit the ‘local law’ of course, but please try not to completely omit their existence; whether you prefer to RP both sides yourself, simply refer to them hypothetically, or actually invite another writer to interact with you in such a role. Outside of the cities of course, the long roads and wild countryside are far more vulnerable to abuse.
6) General Plaza Rules apply re: not Godmoding etc. Thankyou.

[Ercassie]

'Don't need my health, got my name and got my wealth
I stare at the sun Just for kicks all by myself
I lose track of time So I might be past my prime
But I'm feelin', oh, so good, yeah'

(Everybody loves Me, One Republic)




Lord Araldur Azrubêl with Captain Gaearindil Thavron
About 'The Golden Dawn
Not far off port from Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil
2980 TA

His eyes rebelled against the coming of the dawn, as though the daystar due might dare to stand as rival to their undiminished glow. He was not accustomed, after all, to the trial of some other besting him. Be it mortal man or else. Though all competition would find him in the finest humour. He lay all adrift, alone, and the almighty ocean fell as a capricious cloak beneath his sable mane. It crowned him lord of the undeniable morning, which broke in a vast kaleidoscope of colours all across the canopy of the heavens above.

Araldur felt the warmth of a smile light the embers of his smooth expression. The blood, sweat and tears of recent ventures were cast from him, cast unto a place for future contemplation, to be indulged under the influence of a solid brandy. War had no right to his mind this day. Not now the sun had set upon the recent campaign to proper expunge the Enemy.

A new dawn awaited, endowed with the promise of that long anticipated. He had come through the fire and flame. He had helped to put the world to rights. He had better hasten or he would be late arriving to his own wedding ....


Golden feathers surged upon a cerulean sea; the magnificent rendition of a fine three-headed eagle looked as though to liberate it's painted mascot from the soft blue sails. The vaunting insignia of his signature vessel, leaning bold impression that the bird itself flew free. Reminiscent of the witnesses of Manwë, the motto Araldur had been raised upon; that the Valar be his only judge. So long as the Dol Amroth Nobleman felt he wronged not the illustrious deities, then he and his should ever know the protection of the wise and all-seeing.

Such belief and care for conduct had kept them these last some thousand years, bedecked in both wealth and popularity. Araldur trusted in the faith of his ancestors, and had faith in his trusted people. 'The Golden Dawn' bore swiftly down upon her Lord as though to bestow welcome kisses, even as he swept powerful in his swimming stride to be recovered. Cries of relief and joy flew fast and thick as ropes that offered him safe passage to return to deck.


"My Lord, we grieved to find your cabin forsaken," Gaearindil clasped his commander, and comrade in arms the same with a hearty welcome. Disregarding the sodden condition of the Nobleman. "What seized upon your mind to so try your loyal servants ?" he could not refrain from the question.

"I was drawn by most compelling whim of a siren's song," Araldur cast off his skin of clinging attire, leaving a trail of disregard behind him as the two men made way to the Lord's abandoned cabin. "Thinking this my last to chance what maidens fair I have met not, I flew from the boards to seek the source of such enchantment."

"You were absent some expanse of time !" the bewildered Captain suspended his disbelief. "We worried." He stepped aside for the Lord's folk to present and ready him with suitably dry attire. "The Lady Eressild .."

"The Lady Eressild has not a cause to fear !" assented the untroubled Swan Knight. "It was her song, do you not see ? I sought ever all about the oceans stretch and it was the clear voice of my bride-to-be, summoning me home .. to Lond Côl."


Appeased, the Sailor ducked his head, approvingly. And left the Lord to what his folk could manage of him to make his illustrious return. Home ! The battle won, and evil thwarted, it was more than time to revel in the comforts of such splendour. Araldur surrendered to those who would see him ready. For his bride. For his kin. For his entire estate to welcome home their conquering hero. Fresh from serving with the Belfalas quarter of Thorongil's onslaught in Umbar.

Now the world made sense again. It was a safer, better world, so he had been led to believe. And his reward awaited. Eressild. And the life that they and theirs might now enjoy ever after. Life was good.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion (1)

Late third age…

Lond Cobas was the bay where the Ringló and the Morthrond joined together and emptied as a single river in the sea. The bay faced southwest, an ideal route from where the elves once left these lands. Dol Amroth and Edhellond where two of the ancient settlements, one was brimming with life, the other was nearly deserted. There was a secret watch in Edhellond, called the Avorrim. On the joining point of the two rivers lay the town of Glenhir. The Numenoreans who once settled here, had taken over most customs, ideas and tongues from the passing elves. It was more lucrative in these parts than sticking to old Adunaic, that was no longer favoured and considered with evil. At an young age Silinde used to sneak of out of town to visit the town across the bay, with that all of its natural beauty, got something attractive. Born by the sea he knew the call of waves, but was not bothered by it. In a sense Silinde loved interaction at first, but for that was action needed. So what was not in the home of his aunt, which was a large hovel of a house in the Old Town District. The small streets indicated this was the busiest and poorer part of town, than the Castle Quarter District and the Middle Port District. The White Town District is where the better people lived, the road was to the citadel of the Prince, and the harbour where the White Ships were docked. The Old Town supported the commercial harbour, and here ships arrived from far and wide to trade.

“No, I don’t want to play with you.”
“Yes, you will!”

It was a battle he would lose. Nilida could be quite mean, if she wanted to be. How she could be was still beyond him. But perhaps that was how all girls were of seven years old. He wished he was much older, older than her, so he would be the boss and she had to listen to him. But he was just five years old. Quick as his legs could he ran up the stairs toward the room he had on the second floor. It was cold and small, but still his own space. And he was large enough to put the lock on it, a wooden sliding lock. Nilida came up after him, but half way she slipped and had to grasp herself so she didn’t slip all the way down. Silinde got inside and pulled the lock on the door, not watching what happened to his sister. Nobody could get in now. He heard some curses and a yell of his sister. But he was safe here and he didn’t care if she was being caught by their aunt. Silinde dragged a chair toward the only window in his room under the pitched roof, climbed on it and looked outside. With his hands on the windowsill he could look outside.

For him it was a wild mesmerising world, the one of other houses, carts that were pulled by horses and deeper down toward the harbours the ships and their captains. Silinde didn’t yet understand what it was all about or what was traded, as his sister said on the market. The ships came into the harbour, remained there some while. People were very busy around the ships and later they set off to sea. First they seemed only to come once and never return, but gradually he learned by the sails and the ships themselves that some returned each day, or once a week. Where they went to or came from, he didn’t know. But that was not important. They came here and he liked to watch. Perhaps there would be one day he would step also on such a ship and sail away over the gentle waves. There were dangerous storms now and then with rain and thunder. But what boy was afraid of a storm? Silinde was not, as he tried to tell himself bravely. He wished she was married already, then she could plagued her husband all the time, like their father who was always absent. His older brothers Angar and Dyando were teenagers now, eleven and ten as they were, and father had taken them to sea. Sudden there was a ruffle on the door.

“Open the door, brother. You will play with me, or I call Aunt Maia!”
“No, I won’t!”

He called back with his high-pitched voice still. His brothers had better voices. He remained on the chair and kept looking outside. He shivered as he heard a curse and footsteps that got away. Nilida could try to call Aunt Maia, but she would only get a snap herself and no other form of attention. Maybe Aunt Maia would put her to work, cleaning something. Silinde knew he never had to clean, he was a boy, and Nilida was a girl. She always had to clean. She had to learn to be a proper housewife for a future husband. Cleaning the house were woman’s duties. Silinde looked outside again, following down in the street the wife of their neighbours. She was odd, he knew. Aunt Maia had said so. The woman always crabbed behind her left ear, when she pulled her cap right. She had left home with an empty basket, and she returned with a full basket. Aunt Maia didn’t like her. But Silinde found the woman quite kind. When he was outside she had always a biscuit for him. But only when he was alone and not with one of his siblings together. It was his secret with the neighbour’s wife.

Many years later… Fourth Age.

When he grew into adulthood it was obvious that Silinde shared very little with his older brothers who had gone to sea, and hadn’t returned in years. They knew him as a five years old, but not at nearly twenty years. He had been growing up in a slowly rate that had worried his aunt Maia and she couldn’t phantom what the cause of that was. But one day she asked herself if he got another father than his older brothers shared together? It was possible, but who could tell? His mother had died at his birth, leaving him be the youngest of four siblings, of various ages. His aunt was clear they all had the same mother Merenia. But Maia’s name and Merenia’s name weren’t really so very connected. Had they been sisters really? Or was his aunt Maia hiding a secret of herself? As an unmarried woman from Dol Amroth? And where did Nilida fit in? Was she a full sister of him, or a half-sister? She had been accepted at court though as a respected daughter of Dol Amroth, just as aunt Maia was and mother Merenia had been. By the age of mid-forties either were good-looking, quite ageless still, but also well experienced in life.

Dor-en-Ernil, the land of the princes, was steeped in legends and myths, and the rumours that the blood of Belfalas had intermingled with that found in Edhellond, were not unfounded. After all the first prince had taken a wife from the inhabitants over there, and they had lived many years together. The maiden had left in the end, leaving her children behind, while her husband died. Galador had been mortal as legends went, but his sister Gilmith? She must have been too. But as legends went, they took also forms to what people wanted to believe. Perhaps she had taken an elven man and had children with him? Or she had married a swanknight of Dol Amroth? Who could say? Questionable it became if the grandchildren married other elves, anything of mortality would thin out so much, they would be immortal, or so the rumours could put that together. Silinde couldn’t say what the truth was all in that. But as legends were? The real truth had gone lost in time. And the people who knew, had left long ago.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion (2)

Silinde was born and raised in this town of noblemen and noblewomen. He was a long man of nearly 1.90 meters tall. Black haired he was counted among the pretty looking men as quite exotic. Most of the other men were brown of blonde-haired, some also black. He knew his ways as one of the Swan Knights in the service of the Prince. Outside it was a beautiful sight over the streets and the ships down in the harbour. His arms lay in the window, as the glass was opened now. The wind blew inside and took the curtains with a soft breeze with it. The grey eyes he had were inherited from his Numenorean forefathers by his mother. She had been a descendent from the people of Lord Valandil of Andúnië, later known as the Faithful. Silinde was not a model young man, like those of the richer houses in the city. Their education had been refined, taught also the manners of respect and courtesy toward the female population in town. Joining the Knights had been for him a try to escape a life of poverty and senselessness he didn’t want. Even now, he didn’t earn all too well, but he got a house for himself what was his own property. It was not big and laid half way the town in the middle of the busiest part of town where the market was located. His neighbours wondered why a Knight lived in their neighbourhood, for all the other Knights had houses higher up in the city or were encamped inside the quarters of the Army. He was one of the city’s elite soldiers. He had little of friends among the Knights.

Silinde walked slowly through the harbour. He was alone as none of the soldiers had wanted to accompany him from the citadel. He was free off now. The evening was falling, the light was fading. A storm had swept today over the city, and half knocked down the market. He had been sent out to help and get the people safely in houses. There had been a few wounded, as old people had fallen on the wet stones of the roads and market. It had been a heavy task to get the wounded safe to a healing post, where further care was given to them. Silinde was just a soldier of the city. He was glad that the tumult was over and all were safe. The market was destroyed. As he watched the still dark sky and the still wild sea in front of him, he knew that lay behind was home. Never really, he would leave it for good. He had no knowledge of the event that happened today in this bay. For him it was just the sea and it went south for kilometres. He knew a little of who was coming to his city for a visit.

Soft twinkled the stars against the dark heavens, when the clouds began to break. Their light fell down and lighted the harbour slight pushing the deep dark back to the promise of a clear night. The wind was still strong and blew his hair fairly out his face. Silinde had not yet gone home to sleep even it was far after midnight. He was not sleepy yet. The wind had refreshed him. It was quiet now in the harbour. Most of the city inhabitants had gone to bed. The fleet of his city lay safe here and were always guarded from the large citadel more farther up in town. Silinde stood up from the low wall he had been sitting on and stretched his legs. He felt the stiffness of the night cold that had crawled into him soon the dark began to fall. ‘I am growing slowly old,’ he thought. He knew life was short, but at the same time long. For no gold, he would be a youth again. He had grown fond of being an adult and to be counted among the men, to be taken serious.

He strolled down the harbour and the best part of town, where the rich lived. He took the bridge back to the middle part along the work harbour. It was still a half hour walk to reach the old parts of town. Along the commercial harbour walked those who just left the harbour taverns, where laughter and music made it to the street. Right after the bridge Silinde took the turn right where the road would lead him to Old Town, and the poor parts of Dol Amroth were. He came upon a channel that crisscrossed and bordered the western part of Old Town. There along the water on the corner of the second block was his house, that he owned himself. To the left of him lived an old widow, whose husband had died at sea. He visited her regularly, hearing the tales she had about her late husband. As she had no children of her own, she had adopted Silinde a bit like her own son. Silinde could appreciate her warmth and kindness for he had no family himself to turn to, except a groggy aunt who lived near the market.

He took the key from his pocket, stuck the key in the lock, and turned the key around to open the door. Silinde shot one look over his shoulder, if nobody stood behind him, then, opened the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and locked it again. Through the vestibule, he came in the living room from where he could access the kitchen and a stairs to the floor above him. The whole house was made of wood and was as old as the city was. It was build somewhere in the 23rd century, now more than 700 years ago. Silinde was quite proud of his home, it smelled as ancient. He knew that many families had lived here and the last family had been a weaver’s family. The loom stood still in one of the backrooms of the house. On the main ground, except the living room, where three other rooms. Upstairs were the old sleeping quarters? Three years ago, he had bought the house included with furniture in it. The old weaver and his wife had passed away, and the children had no interest in the house, so they had it put to sell. Silinde, living still with his aunt at the time and mostly thus staying in the barracks, had been in search for own living quarters.

Silinde fell down on the large couch in the living room. He smiled, glad to be home. He had to crawl in bed, but didn’t want, yet his body gave a sign he needed to go. Yawning he sat upright again and shook his head. On the clock, he saw it was near 2am. Normally he lay around 1am in bed, but not tonight. He stood up and left the living room via the corridor that led to the back of the house. There was the stairs as well. Steep and small he climbed to the first floor and opened the door of his bedroom, which was the largest on this floor. Next his lay a smaller chamber where the furniture still stood belonging to a child. He threw his clothes on a chair and crawled in the large bed, meant for married couple. The sheets were clean, done by his female neighbour, the widow. Soon he lay his head on his pillow, he was off to dreamland and vast asleep.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion (3)

In the first hours of dreamland Silinde never remembered where he dreamt about. Deep and silent these hours went by wherein nobody roamed through the streets except for dubious figures, men and women from sea who had no home in Dol Amroth, and had no lust yet to return to the ships they came from or to the inn, where they had their quest quarters. The storm still blew over the city, freezing half the guards spread standing on the walls and pulling their cloaks tighter around them. The gates of the fortified city were closed for the night. In the early morning hours they would be opened again. In the deep night after 3am the hour for murderers and assassins came. Now most of the town, even the night dwellers had found their beds to sleep, they ventured out and went on their businesses. Not often, it happened, but one murder in the three months, sometimes too happened. Except for one of two all happened in the oldest and poorest part of town, where the taverns were. And where visitors from other placed stayed. Most of these murders were enmities, old and fresh.

Dol Amroth was governed fair by Prince Imrahil and the Swan Knights. It was a fair city, where the blood of the old Numenoreans ran true still, and always had. The Prince tried to keep up the splendour and fairness of old. Believed was also that true elven blood, despite very distant now, ran through his veins, and what could be related to his wisdom. The citizens of Dol Amroth saw in him a wise leader and ruler and they loved him and his family. All sons of the city could apply to become first a soldier and later on a Knight, and serve him rightly. Silinde was no exception to the rest. The daughters went to school and learned the same wisdom as the young men got. It was believed that men and women had equal rights, sure on schooling. None of Dol Amroth inhabitants should be derived from school and withheld from any form of education. Schooling had only brought the city good. Trades could be fair commenced.

The murder hour from three to four was also the hour where people slept more relaxed. The deep sleep was over and the hours of dreams began. Some dreams were fine and the next morning these people awake with a smile on their faces. Other dreams came from hell and brought a cloud over the morning of those who had bad dreams that night. In these hours, Silinde usual relived parts of his youth, and especially the occasional visits of his brothers who returned from sea, and had some business in this town. Angar was six years older than him and Dyando five. While both his older brothers went after their father in looks and build, Silinde had become in this world with his mother’s soft grey eyes. Silinde stirred in his sleep and sudden woke, at the moment that clock downstairs in the living room hit 4am. Confused he sat up in bed and yawned. He felt the dream still lingering in the back of his head and knew it was again a nightmare. Half broken he slid out of bed, grasped his robe and pulled it on. The house he lived in was big for a single man alone. He went down to the main floor to seek something to drink. He knew milk would be good, but he didn’t have it at home. So he took some water from the small beer-cask in the kitchen. Tired he sat down on the chair there and drank slowly the water from the cup. He hated these dreams that disrupt him from half his nightrest. And he hated his family for causing it. It was the hour he hoped that the first dawn at the eastern horizon came, but that was yet a few hours away. There hang curtains for the windows, but he was forgotten to close them. A soft breeze from sea came inside through the little opening in the upper window. With a frown Silinde stood up and tried to remember if he had opened it, but the memory failed to come to him. Maybe his neighbour had opened it and forgotten to close. He shook his head and closed it. He felt the backdoor, but that was closed and locked. For sure he checked the two other rooms on the main floor if someone had not really gotten inside the house. But there were no people. Back in the kitchen, he emptied his water cup, and went back upstairs. In the bathroom, next his room he relieved himself and spat also some water in his face. Then he came back into his room, crawled back in bed and fell asleep again for the remaining hours of the night.

Silinde awoke again in the early morning hours. Feeling awfully tired and worn out by the short night he kept to bed and just lay for an hour, closing his eyes again and dozed off. Outside slowly the city came to live again, as women fetched fresh water from the mutual wells between the houses. Children were prepared for another day at school, and husbands got ready for a new day full of labour. But at 7am he stood up, and disappeared in the bathroom. He refreshed himself, and came back into his bedroom. In the closet along the wall that he shared with his neighbour, he searched for clean clothes. Each morning he put on a full clean set. Silinde was clean man and rather stayed as so, if the luxury allowed it. On a journey was that a different matter. Serving in the military and being a campaign was not what a normal civilian life was. Dressed in underclothes, shirt, trousers, upper tunic and shoes he took the steep, small stairs down to the main floor. In the kitchen, he saw that the widow came out of her house toward him. He took a key and opened the backdoor. As always the widow had a sunny smile on her face.

[Ercassie]

’But [after the Drowning of Numenor] the Isle of Tolfalas was almost destroyed, and was left at last like a barren and lonely mountain in the water not far from the issue of the [Anduin] River. ’

–The Peoples of Middle-earth, JRR Tolkien




Lord Heledir Estennin
Arrival on Tolfalas, Dead of Night - FLASHBACK
Preparing to meet Devedir Thôrmaetha, Before the war
Private with @Rillewen

Anchored off the mainland, in a tantalising view of the whole bay, skulked the isle of Tolfalas. Heledir required both hands to count just how many paintings he had admired of the now lonely landmass. And that was but within his own prestigious home. Not a one of them did the location justice. Or might be that no artist had ever caught the mountain of the sea within their reach. The same destination which emitted it’s siren call from a safe distance, depicted quite an altered view up close.

For here the noble astronomer of Dol Amroth was privy to the forest of sharp rocks which jutted out from under rolling waves. A moment of time could shift it’s scene from a foam-white surface to the curved hard heads which rose up like daggers from the shroud of the sea. His ship could not venture any closer to the island, without compromising safety, and Heledir realised at last just why no one had settle on the isolated mound since the Akallabeth.

From the first, the journey had been no mean feat. He had been forced to traverse nigh across all Gondor from his home in Dor-En-Ernil. And even once his destination was in sight, the final stage of the exhausting passage had been an exercise in will for the respected Lord, who was long unused to menial labour. He had expected for 'Lord Hollin Menilzir' to, at the least, see him conjured to the meeting point, but it was as much as that man would see to providing the boat itself. Heledir might have asked any of his household staff to accompany and/or assist him, but that he had been warned, in most meticulous detail, of just what would happen to his daughter if he failed to conduct himself in the uttermost secrecy. Menilzir had provided the means for Heledir to reach Tolfalas, far from any likelihood that anyone else whom he knew back in Dol Amroth could chance by. The promise had been that a trusted agent would be waiting there for him, on the isle, just as the boat had been on the dock. Quite who this mysterious agent would be, the Lord did not know. But neither was he in any position to object. The widower would do all and anything to retrieve his only child. Now, as his arms weakened and the hour drew nigh, he wished that it had never come to this.


Tolfalas was not reputed to host a welcome reception. Not least there were rumours of smugglers and corsairs who dared roam about the labyrinth of mountain caves at their leisure. The fact that none had ever been arrested for any crime on Tolfalas did not quieten the minds which reasoned they must yet roam free. What nautical strength the might of Gondor’s military boasted was engaged in defending the main shore from tenacious Corsairs. Protecting the shore folk and the trade ships which traversed the jagged coastline were both prime objectives. The notion that deviants might see to take advantage of an island where nobody lived, and where no one should wish to live, much less could manage to grow a means to stay alive there, .. there was no cause that would justify a constant naval presence. If there was naught there to defend, then why defend it at all ?

It was just this sort of secrecy which Heledir was counting upon, in as much as he did not wish to be observed. His life, or worse, his daughter’s life, depended upon it. The devoted father leant elbows on kknees, for a long count of deep breaths before he was ready. Then he heaved his aching body up and over into the chill of the shallows, hauling the tow for his vessel, such as it was, behind him to anchor at the beach.

It was not becoming for a gentleman of his station to sit cross-legged in the sand and recover his strength, but still he did so. Naught as he had done thus far had ever been a part of his well-financed education. His career of mapping out the skies made him rich in the nautical prowess of his homeland, and a grand philosopher besides, well schooled in the interpretation of all celestial marvels. The small trunk of gold which he had piloted out on this little journey he had taken great pains to lift from the boat. After such an ordeal, Heledir was exhausted. So when he recognised the promised signal, of a fire lit up in a nearby cave, his heart did not exactly leap at the prospect of carrying himself, and his small trunk, even that distance. It was not even that he begrudged his promised agent the payment for service rendered. It was more that he wished that the service itself were not required.

Nobody had ever said that being a father would be easy. Still, he doubted that most fathers had to face such circumstances as he was. As much as he doubted any father would do different if, the Valar forbid, they did. Little did Heledir know. He was not the first desperate father that 'Hollin Menilzir' had sent to meet the smuggler, Devedir. Nor was he likely to be the last.

[Rillewen]

Private with @Ercassie

Devedir and Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Awaiting Lord Heledir
Roughly a year before the War of the Ring

As Heledir made his way toward the cave, the shrill cry of a falcon pierced the air. He might see the bird wheeling above the island, should he happen to look up. The bird paid him no heed, other than to warn her person that another approached. Having done her duty, she then went on to find supper, to rejoin her human later.

Inside the cave, Devedir heard his falcon and knew that someone approached. She had not been trained in that regard; it was merely a habit the bird had developed and which Dev encouraged. He liked to be warned of approaching people, or ships, or whatever. Seated cross-legged by the fire, he was prepared, should it be a foe or the man whom he was here to meet. Remembering the teenager who had begged to join him on this rendezvous, Devedir held back a sigh as he turned to Trevedir. His son. "Remember, I allowed you to come so long as you keep quiet. Don't make me regret bringing you, boy. He is here to make a business deal, so you stay out of it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I won't say a word," Trev promised, looking up from the shiny flute he had been twirling around his fingers, a means to pass the time while they waited. He'd become bored during the wait, though it was exciting to get to see his father at work, and be involved. After so many years wishing his father would return home, the young man was eager to catch up on all of that lost time, and hopefully form the father/son bond he had longed for all of his childhood.

Dev rolled his eyes slightly and turned his attention to the man who had come so far, under such distress, to this point. Having long ago abandoned his duties as a father, Dev found it rather difficult to place himself in the other man's shoes. It had not appealed to him to be burdened with even one child, much less two, without the woman he loved. His mother-in-law had cared for the children well enough, and for years he had told himself it wasn't his problem anymore. But then, out of the blue, Trevadir had showed up. He was much changed from the six-year-old that Dev had left behind, and seemed as if he might be useful on board the ship, if he was willing. And he had been all too willing to join Dev's ship, on some crazy notion that they would become close buddies. There may have been some vague thought in Dev's mind that he might consider the boy a sort of 'heir', if he showed himself a worthy sailor, but the boy had a long way to go before he would hold any promise of continuing Dev's line of work.

Now, as for the matter at hand, it was fools like the one they were about to meet whom Dev profited from. Willing to pay any price to have their beloved child back. Dev laughed inside at the idiots who parted so readily from their gold when he should have just accepted the hard truth. Hopefully, this one would be no different than the others, unless it were that he was more willing than the previous victims of the scam. This would be the first time Trevadir would see how his father 'earned' his pay, so to speak, and he was curious how the young man would react. That would tell him much about what sort of pirate he would make, and whether he would make a suitable 'apprentice', so to speak. So far he had been eager enough to prove himself a worthy hand on the ship, but that was a little different.

As the man neared the cave, Dev could tell it was the man he was waiting for. He looked like a rich guy. Huffing and puffing as he approached, looking tired. He obviously was unused to physical labor. Dressed in rich clothes, and toting a small chest. That chest had better contain Dev's payment.
Trev's flute stilled from its twirling as he turned his attention to the approaching visitor, curious. He got the impression that maybe the man was from Dol Amroth, which intrigued him. Aside from the family who his grandfather worked for, he'd only seen some of the rich nobles from afar, or heard their names. Was this one of those important noblemen, he wondered?

"Took you long enough." Dev commented, observing his contact's struggle with toting the chest. The words were said in scorn, perhaps to taunt the man to see how he might react. Let the rich lord of Dol Amroth dare to protest about the way he was spoken to. Dev was in control here, and he liked it that way. He wondered if the man was as haughty and spoiled as the last one had been. The chest was not that big. Surely, he had more muscles than that? Still, when one sits around staring up at the stars, as he was told this man did for a living, one will likely not have much strength in his arms. That did not stop Dev from inwardly criticizing the wimp of a man before him, though a smirk tugged at his face as he watched.

"Run into any trouble on the way?" Most likely, the reason for the delay was that it took him that long to pick out an outfit for sailing himself out here, and figure out how to do it without any servants to wait on him... but Dev had to ask. It would not do for the man to have been followed, after all. The pirate captain had taken care to keep his ship out of sight, and aside from Trevadir had left all of his men on board. They were ready to sail at a moment's notice in case they had to make a hasty exit. Devedir did not wish to be faced with the entire naval fleet of Dol Amroth, should this man have been foolish enough to let himself be followed.

[Ercassie]

Lord Heledir Estennin

On Tolfalas, Dead of Night - FLASHBACK - before the War of the Ring
A secret meeting with Devedir Thôrmaetha and his son
Private with @Rillewen

The night hung heavy with delinquent clouds. Their gloom mooched in lumbersome droves like lazy cattle, at a speed which matched the panting, perspiring noble in his slow passage across the beach. At it’s edge, he was forced to stall and empty his boots of sand, but the ambition of comfort was cheated. The man could be sat in his finest chair at home and still feel so ill at ease. And his trial was not done. The rocky path up to the cave was rare used, as was evidenced by the amount of weeds that snagged Heledir’s ankle, and the countless stones he slid and staggered on. Once turning his ankle as he faltered in the climb. Having sat for a few minutes it became apparent that no one was coming down to see if he was hurt.

In the cave, shadows leapt like demons all across the walls, teasing the man’s small fire. The nobleman all but fell before Devedir, dropping the small cumbersome load and then dropping himself onto his knees. He scarcely registered the Pirate’s first jibe, his heart pounding that determinedly in his chest that it sounded in both ears. He certainly did not register the younger man, scarcely a man yet, at first. Once he did, the shock of being outnumbered strove for a while with the surprise that so young a fellow should be brought into this matter.


The question of obstacles however, he heard, and scarcely could believe what he’d heard. Still rose his flushed face up in an astounded disgust for the lounging reptile of a man. “If … if I had … I would not be .. be here,” he managed to pump out what he hoped might satisfy. “Water ?” he expected, out of habit that his needs would be attended to, as always. And then caught the look in Devedir’s face, and expected only disappointment on that score. Well, he decided, two could play at that game. In an absurdly feeble attempt to guard what he still believed was his own, at least for now, Heledir clambered onto the small chest and perched there like a rhino on a book. There was little the man could do but fall, if the stranger swung at him. Still, the illusion of being sat on a seat, rather than upon the ground, made him feel taller, higher, and more in control.

“I was under the impression that we may speak freely, and the subject be not repeated ..” he glanced a second time from the smuggler who had spoke, to his companion. He had been told one man. Not two. Already he had been misled and it was doing nothing to instill his confidence in the coalition. “My daughter,” he began. As though he half expected the other fellow to produce her. “I would not be here, but for her,” he made clear. As though he felt a need a justify every moment that he did not go to the authorities. Every moment that he did not even hesitate to be so obliging. A bout of lightheadedness assailed him, and the astronomer clutched at his head and swayed in his seat. He stood up for a moment and then fretted to feel so exposed against the horizon.

“So I have to wonder. For whose sake are you all the way out here ?” he asked, eyes darting briefly about at their scant surroundings. He had read a lot of books and it was said that the best way to influence people was to find common ground. Might be that this fellow was in similar position to him, and together they could conceive of a way out that was so far beyond Heledir alone.

[Rillewen]

Private with @Ercassie

Devedir and Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Meeting with Lord Heledir Estennin
Roughly a year before the War of the Ring

Shadows flickered across the cave walls, giving the place an eerie look. More eerie than it might have looked, were it only darkness that surrounded the small group, altered only by a slight glint now and then as Trevadir's flute moved in his hand. He held it in his lap, no longer twirling it, yet the firelight could not help but catch on the gleaming, polished metal. Dev was tempted to tell him to put it away, but decided it didn't matter, and it was better that the rich man did not perceive any sort of weakness between the two of them. Better that he not know that Trevadir was barely embarked upon the path of piracy. That in fact, he likely did not yet know what that path involved.

The isolation of the island ought to be enough to make the man nervous, and Devedir now watched his contact, debating just how much coin he could extract from him. His thoughts strayed back to ages ago, before he ever took to sailing; when he used to work with his father as a teenager. Did he know this man? Did he need to take any measures to conceal his identity? Lord Estennin, as he'd been told was his name, didn't seem like anyone he'd ever heard of, however. Dev's father had worked for many men of nobility, or even those who were not nobles, but merely brimming over with riches. Anyone in the area of Dol Amroth who wanted to engage in the sport of hawking, they came to Dravedir Thôrmaetha. Although, last he heard, his father had primarily given his services to the folks at Lond Col, or something like that. He didn't keep up much with his father's doings, but Trevadir had told him something like that.

"Water," the spoiled rich man begged, drawing Devedir out of his memories. He spoke as if he were giving orders to a servant. In fact, he seemed almost like he might cry at any moment. Devedir stared back at him, unblinking, for a moment. "Water?" He repeated, with a tilt of his head as if considering that word. "There's plenty of it around." he pointed out with a shrug, in a tone that suggested Heledir must have missed all the water which Devedir claimed was so abundant. "Of course," He added with a hint of a smirk, "it's all down there." he waved a hand back down the path, the way Heledir had come, indicating the stuff the man must have sailed across to get here.

He watched him for a moment, hiding his smirk at the way the rich man stared at him, as if he couldn't believe the pirate would sit there and not wait upon his every demand. "Then again, it's all full of salt," he added, as if this had just occurred to him. "Probably not much good for drinking." He shook his head in a chiding manner. "If you wanted water to drink, you ought to have brought some." This being said in a rather condescending, or perhaps patronizing, manner... as if Heledir were a foolish child who ought to have known better. "Even my son here knows to bring water along for a trip." He added, making a point of letting the man know that the teenager sitting near him was his son. Adding salt to the wound, as it were.

Trev glanced at his father, feeling pleased to have been referred to as his son. He wasn't quite sure what was going on here, nor who this man was, but to hear his father call him 'son' was..great. He'd been waiting for that for years. Whoever this guy was, he would quickly realize that Trev's father was not going to let himself be bossed around like some servant. Trev was glad for that, proud that his father was not one to be pushed around. But he still felt some confusion about the whole matter. What was in that chest? What was the issue here, concerning the man's daughter?

As Rich man began to explain his reasons for doing what he was doing, it seemed all Dev could do to refrain from rolling his eyes. Did he really think any of it mattered? He spoke of a daughter for the reason he was 'doing this'. For a moment, Dev had thought the man actually expected him to pull the girl out of hiding, as if he were keeping her in the shadows somewhere. As if he intended to trade that little chest which had become Heledir's seat in exchange for the girl. "You surely don't think I have her?" He raised an eyebrow. Considering his own indifference to the children he'd abandoned the day his wife died, it was difficult for Dev to find any sort of sympathy for this fool who was willing to part with all his riches and do anything asked of him, all to save one silly girl who'd been stupid enough to fall into the hands of enemies. The fool would believe anything he was told, if he thought it would get her back. Then again, was he doing it for his daughter, or to save his own reputation?

"Of course you are." There was a flat, almost bored tone to the pirate's voice as he agreed with the nobleman. He really didn't care one bit why he was doing it, only that Devedir got his payment. Before he could ask for it, the arrogant lord asked him a rather unexpected question, which left Devedir in silence for a few seconds. He stared back at Heledir. Not so much stunned, as amused. A slow grin spread and he began to laugh softly. "I assure you, Lord Estennin," He spoke the name with an almost sneer. "My only motivation in this arrangement is the payment I was promised." He leaned forward, growing quite serious. His eyes grew colder as he stared at Heledir. His voice held an edge of something like a threat, as he spoke next. "Therefore, I hope that chest you're sitting on contains the money you were told to bring. For your sake... and your daughter's."

Glancing at his father, Trev found himself somewhat confused. His words sounded quite harsh, he thought, almost cruel. Obviously, the guy was desperate to help his daughter. Though Trev wasn't sure what the situation was, it seemed clear that she was in some sort of danger, and the man was worried, desperate to do anything he must to save her. Trev tilted his head, trying to make sense of the interaction. Surely, his father was not a villain in all of this. There must be some sort of logical explanation. And therefore, the teen contrived his own interpretation to explain what must be going on. This man was coming to Devedir for help! He was paying him to rescue his daughter from whatever had happened to her. That must be it! They were about to embark upon a thrilling rescue, Trevadir thought, and grew a bit excited at the prospect of some real adventure, rescuing damsels in distress, and all that. Wait til he told his friends back home about that!

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (6)

The journey happened just as the one leaving with one minor detail, Tinnuriel had Silinde been looking rather differently. The cape he wore did hide a lot, but so did hers as well. Travelling elves did hide often their true nature in these human landscapes, even there was no reason for Silinde to do that. But travelling with Tinnuriel had been oddly different from the start. They behaved more as a couple together than in any other form. It was the end of the summer both were back at the seat of the prince. Seeing the city back caused for Silinde still a feeling of awe, in a sense he liked the city at sea well. It was rustic despite the busy people around. Life moved simple slower and more relaxed. Crimes happened but in lower numbers that anywhere else in Gondor. The land formed a natural barrier, that the town needed no high fortified walls as towns as Minas Tirith and Pelargir on the Anduin. But as currently there was no place to say, Tinnuriel smiled and coursed towards Edhellond, where plenty of room was available. A town of transit had always accommodations. “We won’t be bothered there with curious noses,” she said. In all how Silinde observed her, he found she didn’t have much of the slow behaviour, the timeless aspect of being immortal. She got a dislike for mortal people and rather had not that much contact with them, unless necessary. She judged more beforehand than he had ever done. And it reflected at how she said it. Dol Amroth lay quite remote from the other towns, so it was a normal thing with curious noses. It was news and you could talk about it.

Silinde walked through the streets of Edhellond he knew. He chose for a deserted dwelling, a small villa by the sea. It was sheer rock beneath the large balcony, but the views were magnificent. There was furniture but not much of it, and looked somewhat weathered. The villa had a kitchen, a bathing room, a living room with the balcony and a couple of restrooms, where you could withdraw and take a goodnight’s sleep. With his habit to sleep anywhere Silinde took a chamber and left his bags there with his sword and armour. In loose fit clothing he appeared on the balcony enjoying the full sunlight of the afternoon. Yet he stayed in the shadows of a large curtain drawn overhead. Tinnuriel was in the bathing room and sang a song in Sindarin, which Silinde heard and caused him a smile. She had grown somewhat grumpy on the road from the rain and dirt. But she could clean it off now and put on something more comfortable than the riding garb. Weary of the road Silinde settled in a long chair and laid his legs on it. And it five minutes he fell asleep on the song of the waves beneath the rocks. When he woke up hours later the sun had gone west and Tinnuriel lay in the chair opposite snoring. And this was a moment Silinde doubted her claims what she was. Shapes of ears and noses said nothing to what race a person belonged. Or so that is what he had figured together from his years of service as swanknight. He could live in this villa for some time.

The next morning they plunged themselves into getting back to Dol Amroth and seek up the old abode of Silinde’s aunt. Maia hadn’t changed much, she was still full dark-haired, not grey. But the lines in her face were beginning to show. They had to talk Annúnaid here, as aunt Maia apparently understood no Sindarin at all. “Curious,” whispered Tinnuriel in his ear in Sindarin. “Your past?” his aunt said. “You were rather little so we thought you to be about five to six years old, when you were taken in. I was never married or had children, but I raised more sort of lost children during my lifetime. Your older brothers were from my sister, but she died in childbirth with the second. Nilida was a foundling just as you were. She was picked up from the sea. Where she comes from, we don’t know.” Silinde said nothing when he realised there were no blood relations between him and his sister Nilida. But neither she got with her three brothers. “I am fiftyeight now, and stopped with raising children. I saw about ten children grow into adulthood and find there own way in life.” “Where does his mother Merenia fit in?” asked Tinnuriel when his aunt fell silent. “Merenia was given to us by the sea. Just as Nilida. But at that time I was a child myself. She stayed sometime with us, my sister and me until she gained strength again. But she said never anything. At moments she was not watched, she used to strike her belly, but from her clothing could not be said she was pregnant. She didn’t look like that.”

Tinnuriel leaned over to his ear and spoke in Sindarin: “Takes months before pregnancy show and takes a full year.” That detail Silinde had never known. He had assumed it was all kinds nine months. But perhaps with both dwarves and hobbits this could neither be assumed. Dwarves were by forty years grownup and hobbits were not far off either just over thirty years. Humans were grownup mostly between twenty years and twentyfive at latest. Elves stretched it into a century. “Merenia left at some point and went to the elven town further up the bay. Then you were found wandering around in the hills. We got out of you your mom was Merenia. And you kept repeating something as Harondir or Hathondir. But either it was a dog, a person or a place we couldn’t figure out,” said Maia. “You were a bright lad though, but didn’t like much of what I served you on food. Fruit you were fond of and could eat a lot of it. Veggies well, they went inside, but meat was kind of problem. Perhaps you were raised without it, because your parents lived in poverty? You wear your hair now different?” “My companion did that, not long ago. Were in an elven enclave and didn’t want to stand out,” he said putting a logical reason to it, even it was not the truth. But Tinnuriel smiled anyway. Aunt Maia had never commented if something was nice or not, and neither she did now. Tinnuriel observed this lack of kindness and had an idea aunt Maia didn’t exactly raise children out of pure love. But there had been some profit attached to it as well. Later she would explain to Silinde.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (7)

Nilida was more than happy to speak with them. She wore her black hair in Gondorian style and wore a nice dress gotten from the princely family. She had an amiable character and smiled friendly when she saw them both. But she was happy to see Silinde even more. “You changed?” she asked. He nodded after the short embrace. She was middleaged but much younger looking than aunt Maia. “Yes,” she said at Tinnuriel’s question. “I love it at court. Awesome family really of Lord Imrahil. I am in charge over the grandchildren of the prince. I don’t see aunt Maia anymore, I have a different life now.” She arranged her skirt neatly before she sat down on a chair in the main hall of the palace, to where Silinde and Tinnuriel had come to. “My youngest adopted brother, as I am the adopted sister, spoke elvish fluently when I met him when I was seven years old. I taught him Gondorian, I was taught Elvish. We were in an age this happened pretty rapid still. It was good to have a younger brother, because I was not so lonely anymore in that rather big house. After us more children passed through. Sometimes bit longer, otherwise shorter. Lond Cobas is quite dangerous to sail and in storms ships get shipwrecked on the rocks underwater. Aunt Maia ran a kind of orphanage for children. Girls would be trained into domestic service, boys mainly in the trade of their choice. So Silinde chose to be a knight, in service of the prince.”

Nilida was good a summarising what happened without deviations. “An orphanage? That explains a lot,” nodded Tinnuriel. Not that she had ever heard of something like that, but she was wise enough to pretend she had. Silinde said nothing. “Hothondir and Merenia were two names that were quite important to him. He could read and write, which he taught to me the Tengwar he knew. Prince Imrahil was happy to learn I could use them. Aunt Maia saw no use for me to read and write. But Silinde had no idea about time and he could not even read a clock. So I taught him that and the importance when this and that had to be done. Time can be rather previous sometimes,” told Nilida of what she could remember. “I see, thank you,” nodded Tinnuriel. “How do you know my brother?” asked Nilida curious. “If I may ask.” “We met in Minas Tirith, at the summerfeast of the Gondorian king,” said Tinnuriel. “King Aragorn, the day of his crowning.” More she didn’t say and Silinde added nothing either. It was up to Tinnuriel what she wanted to share with for her strangers. Silinde knew Nilida’s character pretty well and she knew his. But twenty years on a lot had changed.

“I have never been at the crowning feast that is held each year in honour of the king,” admitted Nilida with a bit sadness in her voice. “But I will someday, with the grandchildren of the prince. In their company?” Silinde nodded it would be great for her, and in an important role as well. She did raise the children, but was also a line of protection nothing dangerous came to them. Hothondir was a name that didn’t say anything to Silinde. Who was it? Was it a man? Was it a horse? Another animal? Or a name he had changed somehow? He was found in the hills of Dor-en-Ernil, but that he didn’t remember either. Was aunt Maia speaking the truth? Tinnuriel would know. She hadn’t said the woman was lying. “I hope you do,” said Tinnuriel to his sister. “Silinde was a nice playmate when we were children. But I had always the idea he knew somehow more or had a better insight. Perhaps his intelligence that is? Anyway his calm nature paved the road for him to be accepted as a knight’s apprentice when he was about seventeen years old. It is not at first sight, knowing him better. He feels sometimes older than I am, and yet he is not and normal most of the times. But I have a peculiar fear for water for someone from here, so who I am to find another odd, when I am myself as well?” asked Nilida with humour of her own. “I am glad Silinde does well in life and you found him as well. Can I expect to have a sister in law sometime?” Silinde and Tinnuriel looked frowning at each other, not having expected this kind of observation from his sister.

Was it that clear they could be couple? Silinde was not happy with that, because if Tinnuriel was really an elf and he was mortal, they had a huge problem. If they were both mortal, life was rather short in Tinnuriel’s eyes, and Silinde rather hoped immortality would not be for them, as this held dangers to them too. “I am hoping he would be,” said Tinnuriel who never made a secret of what lived in her heart. “But he is not that responsive.” “He doesn’t want you?” chuckled Nilida. “That is a first one I hear. Ought there to be problem?” But Tinnuriel shook her head. “Few disagreements, but nothing that wouldn’t make a relation not possible, between us.” “That is good,” nodded Nilida. “I am happy for you both.” The two women seemed to like each other, so Silinde stood up and walked outside the palace room to feel the sea breeze. There were little difference qua female interests between elves and humans, as he saw it. New trends in home decorations were always a favourite subject. But something Silinde could be stolen to talk about. His last interest was how trendy a house really was. He chose then by chance rather a pigsty to sleep in. Today he didn’t wear his swanknight uniform, but just comfortable garb, combined with a warm cape around him. Under it he still wore his sword around his waist. Half his life he had worn plate armour, it was bit strange not to feel it now.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (8)

Hothondir? A name to something or someone? Silinde had no idea about it, nor said it him something. Yet he had spoken about it long ago. Aunt Maia had mentioned it and his sister Nilida had confirmed it. Was he suppressing memories from before the age of five or six? The woman by the fire with the long wavy hair was from behind those walls. He hadn’t told Tinnuriel about that memory. He kept that private for a while, until he was sure it was not a made up thought and really his mother. Had he been wandering in the hills close by? When he was found? He had survived and grownup. In the sea breeze he could let go the clutter on his mind and just close his eyes while enjoying the sounds of the waters splashing on the rocks below. The palace had a round panorama of the sea. It was the best spot to have a house, but also the most vulnerable with an attack from the sea. The old town was then the best located perhaps? Behind the causeway, and not directly by the harbour. He bound his hair low away in his neck, so the locks would not blow into his face. Inside the conversation still in Sindarin came to an end and Tinnuriel joined him outside. “Your sister is really an amiable person. Sad only I’ll know her so short,” said Tinnuriel. “No reason to be said, Nilida is really content with the life she has, she fulfils a purpose, is needed and that means a lot to her,” said Silinde. “She wouldn’t want another life.” “I can’t imagine that,” shrugged Tinnuriel. “Mortality gives a certain amount of time, and that time is usually lived to the fullest. Life comes as a gift, growing older, learning to deal with the difficulties. But on the other hands also experience and wisdom you can pass on to younger people. And there is not the burden to see the world completely change over long stretches of time,” explained Silinde.

Tinnuriel nodded, but still even very young as she was, it looked abhorrent to be with wrinkles and grey hair. She would never have it, and the price to life for eternally? She felt it was a blessing she had all the time to discover what life asked of her, and she didn’t need to hurry. Unconsciously Silinde walked also with her pace in life and asked not to hurry all up. It was earlier her to ask him to be a bit faster. Together they were at every length opposites. She was really hoping that Silinde could be a companion for the rest of her entire life. But Silinde was not convinced at all, he knew he was mortal and would just live a century or a little more. What was a century really? By the end of one Tinnuriel would really be grownup. But still in her youth she was at times rebellious. It was clear that Silinde had learned responsibility from a very early age. “Any idea what Hathondir is?” she asked. “No,” he said. If there were no memories then it was not important. They said goodbye to Nilida and thanked her. After that they travelled back to their villa in Edhellond. To the abandoned town was more than met the eye. Silinde had observed that from the first day of his return. But by the past he knew of a secret watch, the Avorrim. He knew they had been always around and about, and gave elven travellers from the north a secret refuge in Edhellond until a ship was ready to take them west. The official last ship left centuries ago, but unofficially many more ships had left in the many years after.

Who these Avorrim really were, despite they were Tinnuriel’s people, Silinde knew only their characters and identities. But by whom they were dispatched here, he had no idea. The next morning he rode off toward the caves halfway Edhellond and Dol Amroth to meet them. Tinnuriel had given him knee length gown to put on in a dirty white colour, covered over front with silver embroidery. His swanknight armour was too obvious, and this garb he remained inconspicuous. More and more he discovered that Tinnuriel did have a final say in what he wore the next day, combined with unarguable logic. She had donned his hair too, but out of view he gathered it in his neck into a knot. He had put the sword belt over the sash around his waist, and left with boots over his trousers under the gown. Over it he wore a large cape to hide his identity. Tinnuriel remained behind, busy with some needle work she wanted to have finished before his return. It took him a little hour to reach the destination. He was spotted from afar and had to indentify, but soon they saw him, he was let through into the caverns. It was a whole underground system, a perfect hideout. He had been here before, as a child.

For nearly twenty years he had served as a knight, dedicated to the ideals. He had never really asked about his past or wondered who really aunt Maia was. He had grown up over about fifteen years and then joined the knights as apprentice. He spoke broken Annúnaid by then. For difficult subjects he always changed to Sindarin as he spoke that fluently, making it quite difficult for the knight who trained him and didn’t speak Sindarin very well. They had largely managed it with hand and foot signals. And all sorts of whistles, mimicking birds. Later on he had learned Annúnaid to more perfection, but years of neglects lately he had forgotten much. He was better off with people who spoke it natively. If he was taken in by about six years old, where did he then come from? He considered Dol Amroth as his home. But would it remain now Tinnuriel had come into his life? Mortality was an issue she really got trouble with accepting. Silinde never had trouble with it, instead he considered it as something welcome. But did Tinnuriel really understand what mortality was? Growing old in mind and body? But he had become also a bit rusted into his occupation as swanknight. And Tinnuriel wanted him to see more of the world in another capacity than rushing to all the whims of the mortals. Silinde never minded it, and was thankful to do good in this world. What was really wrong with being a knight? It was both a humble and honourable position. Not many made it to being a knight. Temporary he was on a sideroad now, but soon he would return to his daily duty as knight. He had sworn an oath long ago, and it was really hard to consider not keeping to it.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (9)

He knew to find the caverns, where he dismounted and trailed his horse with him going inside. It was a natural cave, on first sight nothing was distinctive it was actually occupied. But it was. The tiniest details told you that. This kind of subtlety was hard to find out by Gondorians. But Silinde had no trouble to find three guards. He saw them before they even moved into action. It was daylight outside, but in the cave it was night dark. That had obviously a purpose, but shouldn’t hinder him. His horse would have more trouble with the pitchdark for some parts. The cave meandered to a bigger complex, known as the First Chamber. Silinde greeted the watch and gave a nod from under the hood that hid his features. “Mae Gowannen,” was the response in Sindarin. It felt being welcomed home, a part of something. Kind of home had the orphanage of Aunt Maia been too, but not where you would feel be truly welcome. He was let in further. “Who are you searching for?” asked one of the guards. “I don’t know, but someone who could have known Merenia?” said Silinde. “The master of the horses might know something,” was the response. Silinde nodded, thanked and guided further through the system. It felt like a walk back in time, and when he reached again an open space he saw there was more to it than he had thought. Bridges overlapped a chasm in the ground, and housing stood scattered. Did the Avorrim really live here? In a village underground?

He couldn’t imagine how it was to live underground. But perhaps people did that to live safely? But out of reach from the sun and the nature? He came into the village where people looked up. He was a stranger, but allowed in he posed not a threat at first. Someone asked again what he was searching for and Silinde said he was pointed towards the master of the horses. Finally he met a darkhaired man who was the horsemaster among the Avorrim. “Have you known Merenia?” he asked. The horsemaster nodded: “Yes, we have known her.” “Did she die here?” asked Silinde. But the horsemaster shook his head. “Who was Hathondir?” frowned Silinde surprised. “Not that quick with firing questions, young lad,” grinned the horsemaster. “Have a seat with me first.” Silinde did what was asked and stopped asking. The entourage was a simple corner in the caves, where the horses stood together and lay in the hay on the ground. The horsemaster walked to a seating area, which were stumps of trees and a likewise table between them. Silinde arranged his cloak under him, removed the hood from his head to reveal his features and laid the sword over his knees. “That is a mighty weapon you have,” said the horsemaster. “I am a swanknight of Dol Amroth, came with the armour,” nodded Silinde, proud at the knight he was.

He frowned deeper when the horsemaster burst out in laughter. “I can’t appreciate you’re find it funny,” said Silinde not laughing at all. “I never heard one of us being a swan knight,” reacted the horsemaster amused. “I am not one of you,” said Silinde bit more calm. “I hadn’t expected you would be so serious about it,” sobered up the horsemaster with a shrug of the shoulder. What was he saying? Silinde frowned his anger changing for confusion. Was this elf thinking he was one of them? Or was he pulling a joke? An innocent joke Silinde could appreciate, but not when there was fun made about his honoured occupation. “What do you know of Merenia and Hathondir?” he asked once more. He crossed his arms for his chest and waited for the answer. “I do remember them both,” told the horsemaster with no furher delay. “They left both Middle Earth on a ship many years ago.” “A ship?” asked Silinde. “Yes, they departed,” nodded the horsemaster. “Why would they leave lands like these? It is a good life in Dol Amroth,” said Silinde. “For humans yes,” nodded the horsemaster. “But not for the elves. Not to fade away they have to leave these lands. And so they did.” Never Silinde had something so ridiculous. “What was their relation together? Friends, more?” “They were married in our sense, bonded together. There were two children, but either went lost,” said the horsemaster. “Has never been a search done?” asked Silinde. “We did what we could, but the children were not found. So they left together,” said the horsemaster.

It was not what Silinde could remember. But much was lingering in darkness more or less. So ravaged from the children they had chosen for another future. It was odd that both had left alive, and not that his mother was dead, buried here somewhere. He nodded finally, stood and left after having said farewell. He was not coming back to these caverns. The Avorrim were not the people he was searching for, or needed. Was it possible to be alive after so long? If his mother did, she must be now a very old woman. Or have died in an unknown place with her love. With the information he returned to Edhellond where Tinnuriel was waiting on him. Was there a connection now between him and Hathondir? Was that man his father, or just a lover of his mother? Bit rebellious Silinde was not believing the horsemaster right away, even the elf had no reason not to tell the truth from his perspective. Outside the cave it had started to rain and it was long way back to the elven hub, where he arrived drenched through. “You have ever been this wet before?” asked Tinnuriel not agreeing how he had treated himself on the road. “No,” he said disinterested. Tinnuriel could tell what he had heard had shaken him, but he was refusing to let those feelings even in. “It was not agreeable what you have heard?” she fished for an answer. Silinde grumbled while he undressed and stepped in the bath that had been made earlier.

For the first time Tinnuriel saw him without anything on from the back and he looked rather marvellous for a human of good as fifty years old. He would look like that for many years to come, she was sure. “They left with a ship from here,” she said. “How do you know? You can mindread?” he asked still at sour tone. “I can, but I don’t read your mind to know what is written all over you,” she said with her hands on her hips. “You fit in the picture as the lost boy, not? To them?” she nodded sure. “I am not!” Silinde rejected vehemently from the bath. “What did they tell?” shrugged Tinnuriel. “Merenia and Hathondir were bonded, and they had two children, who went lost in the hills around Dol Amroth. There was a search, but they were not found. So they left these land per ship, destination unknown,” told Silinde the facts rather objectively. There was not much feeling in them. “So they would not fade away, the craziest thing I ever heard.” “We are not the blessed elves from the west, or have seen the magic lights of old. Who did are said to be forever living. But us, green and grey elves, we die too eventually. But not like humans. Our spirits grow stronger, while our bodies weaken,” said Tinnuriel. “Like a wraith?” gruelled Silinde horrified. “Not for me, I am happy to be human then.” “Not a wraith, but like a sprite, invisible spirits you cannot see. That is our fate, if we don’t leave these lands. You included,” she said knowing that much of the truth. This was a debate between them since they knew each other.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (10)

“You’re like me, you can’t discuss this beyond Sindarin, because you are fluent with it. Adunaic is rusty with you, second language,” she said to shut him up. “Keep doing this and I punch you a blue eye, you can’t look through for at least week. You’re wailing about something that is not yours to have.” She got a foul look from him, but that didn’t make her flinch. Men were impossible at times and sure if they couldn’t get the satisfaction being right. “You would make it a nice father I think,” she added, where upon his hands vanished under the bubbles in the water. “A what?” he shot to her. “You heard what I said,” she stated with a fine smile. “What is it you don’t want to have of me? Or want me to be?” he accused her angry from the bath. “Not much really,” said Tinnuriel lightly. “Just my knight in shining armour.” “You’re mocking me,” was the reply. Tinnuriel had enjoyed their verbal battles from the day she met him. How old she became, it would never tire her to cross swords with him. Silinde perceived that differently, but either he was aware of it or not, he couldn’t let her go. She heard him coming out of the bath fuming at himself. Tinnuriel whistled and went on with folding clothes she had washed hours earlier and letting drying in the seawind. Hathondir and Merenia were out the loop ever to find them. She had never much hope they would find them actually, but knowing more about vague names was always better.

With clean greywhite robes on Silinde looked much better. His hair was bound in a simple knot on the back of his head. Locks of hair still fell half besides his head that hadn’t made it into the knot. And she was really nice to see her offwhite gown and some big flowers in her hair. She caught him staring at her if he was captivated. A smile of her propelled him into an action neither had done ever before. Tinnuriel had been some time for it, but still it was a very nice moment neither would ever forget. With his hands around her face Silinde was looking down on her and she was looking up as she laid her hands over his wrists. There was no time around them when they found each other in a kiss not loosing what could be read in each other’s eyes. It was a soft and gentle moment, what she had imagined Silinde would give her eventually. All thoughts had evaporated and it was just the tiny space between them. The playful Tinnuriel and the grumbling Silinde were gone.

Silinde didn’t think and just acted on pure feeling. Right or not couldn’t bother him and what he saw in Tinnuriel’s eyes she was not against it, but she answered it soon their mouths met each other. Love on first sight? There were no poet around to put them into a rhyme. Silinde had no idea how to do this, but a gentle and soft touch were more his style than sweep her up as a lunatic. He had seen it though on his travels. The kiss was a moment of surveying, any deeper understanding would take time. He wasn’t bothered how long that would take, nor was Tinnuriel. But the moment fleeted and hands were unlocked. Still they stared at each other. Tinnuriel shook her head to wake up from an enchanted dream and so did Silinde by loving a hand through his hair. Neither still said something, but pickup where matters had left them, cleaning up and clearing out. After that they were found on a terrace sitting in the dying sunlight over a good evening meal. “What do you think that became of them?” he asked finally. “I don’t know myself. Possible they found the hidden road and arrived in the blessed lands, and live still. But possible they were not, sailed the seas and landed on some unknown coast,” said Tinnuriel at last. “I feel it is the latter thing. Either one of them was an elf, and the other a human, neither would have been allowed and they can’t find the road. I hoped to find a grave at least, so I could say a proper goodbye. But it is not there at all,” sighed Silinde. “It is somewhere in your memories who Merenia really is and what Hathondir’s role is,” said Tinnuriel. “But repressed that takes time.” Silinde had grown up and moved on in life, just as the other children around him. Orphans never had much choice than rebuild life. There was no past to them. His foster time hadn’t been very pleasant and becoming a swanknight had been a way to escape it. But what now?

Tinnuriel had redone his dried hair and Silinde didn’t look much now like the man he had ever been. She pasted an image on him, with her around, he grew more comfortable with than he wanted to admit. What had to become of his knighthood? Tinnuriel was a complication in life that interfered. But could it also be united? Would she accept he was long stretches from home for noble causes? Until now they hadn’t discussed future plans and they wouldn’t do it now. But sitting together was so enjoyable to him, he wouldn’t leave tonight or tomorrow for knightly duties. He reached over the table to grab and hold her hand. What was more nicer than to do that right now, while the sun sank in the west, becoming dark and the stars appeared. He had seen starry nights before, but Tinnuriel somehow blossomed up when she felt the starlight on her skin. “Have you ever felt the silver light upon you?” she asked. Silinde shook his head, not understanding her. “Just feel it,” she urged grinning. Silinde held out a hand, but felt the wind more than distant rays from the stars. Maybe women were more perceptive? “The silver light radiates around us and mirrors in our eyes,” she said on an enchanted tone. “They are our guide home.” Guide home? Was that how Merenia and Hathondir found their way across the sea? But which route had they taken? He could not decipher which stars were the route, as there were many paths as were stars at the firmament. It was beautiful to look at though.

[Ercassie]

Lord Heledir Estennin and ’Lord Hollin Menilzir II’
An ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth.
Before the War of the Ring, TA

The backdrop was a virtual hive of riches and high society. Music swarmed the scene, provoking esteemed guests toward the cult of classical dance. Every which corner of the hall was adorned by affluent guests and practiced etiquette. The atmosphere ought to have warmed the nobleman's heart, at the very least conjured a smile to crown his fastidious attire. But his heart loitered gravely about the bitter winds that broke upon the battlements outside. He wished to depart, more than anything in the world. For in the midst of his neighbours and his peers, never had he felt so utterly alone. His heart was encased in a vault of melancholy and the worries of his mind suffered a silent scream. Still he could not leave. He had a job to do here.


Arkadhur found him without too great a search, wading in a melancholy isolation, and immediately moved to alter that condition. “My Lord,” he spoke with soft tone and fair words, as was befitting their backdrop, “you seem that grievous of expression, one might wonder at what ails you.”

Heledir did not so much startle to find himself encumbered by such company. He had after all invited the other to this social gathering. He was already beginning to regret the move. The very thing which kept him beyond questions was the self same thing which was the very problem. That none here knew who the Umbarian really was, that he was an Umbarian in fact, at all. As things stood, the Nobleman of Belfalas was beginning to question if he knew himself any more, to have dallied with this imprudent state of affairs. The only thing he could know for certain about the stranger he had brought, like a wolf into the flock, was that whatever happened should be all his fault entirely. But that did not change his already despairing mind. It could not. His daughter’s life, his beautiful Gael; her survival depended upon him doing exactly as he was told. Here. Wherever. Whenever the blackmailer decided. It turned out the abduction had not been the worst deed that her captors could cultivate, not by a long reach.

Arkadhur courteously introduced himself to all of Lord Estennin’s friends, as Lord Hollin Menilzir II, the little known son of a long vanished Swan Knight. He had of course played a personally significant role in the late Knight’s cruel demise, though he had left the specific murder to those with more of a taste for such things. His own mind was as despairing as the man he puppeteered. For he, yes even he, not unlike Heledir had a job to fulfil here. And not unlike Heledir, if he failed, lives would be forfeit. Not his daughter’s, for the Umbarian had no daughter as far as he was aware. But something he valued ever more importantly. His own life, such as it was. He would do whatever it took to persevere in this world, so it seemed that he was the perfect advocate to convince his ‘clients’ to do same.


“My apologies,” Heledir stammered, averting his gaze to the floor he yearned to swallow him whole. “The last thing upon my mind was to present any symptom of distress that may cause alarm ... to my friends.” His efforts were rewarded with the slow uncurl of a smile.

“You might then try a little harder, toward that end,” he was advised, as his guest leant close enough to impart with this wisdom. “I am so dearly looking forward to meeting your friends.”


It broke Heledir thenafter to clap the foreigner about his back with hearty gusto, and might have struck any observing as odd, at the capricious change. For the nobleman’s fair features were enlivened, each aspect of his countenance an actor with it’s role. And he, undertaking the greatest performance of his life.

The furtive agent of Umbar hesitated, indulging in his ability to do so, before responding, with a subtle nod of satisfaction. As though he was gaining anything from all of this, beyond his own survival. He, yes he too, answered to the whim of others. And so the unhappy carousel of a charade came into play.

Lady Eressild Azrubêl and Lady Ilisys Azrubêl of Lond Côl
arriving at the afore-mentioned party, at the aforementioned setting,
to encounter a couple of ‘gentlemen’

The mighty doors of the establishment groaned with great heft and expense as they yielded to the latest patronage. The herald spouted introduction but there were few who would not already recognise the most recent arrivals.


The foremost of the two women was not so young as her demeanour might suggest, and yet there was a vacancy about her actions which supposed she might even had found herself in the wrong chamber. Her cloud grey eyes were animated about those gathered, and at the same time seemingly dismissive that anything there should keep her attention for more than a moment. The inky coils of her hair had been directed about the crown of her head, and set with small white gems that glittered in the gloom of her tresses like stars. Her gown was a swathe of cerulean blue, to declare the colours of her illustrious House; and not at all her choice, which might have been evident by the way she refused to have even her own hands about the expensive fabric. So she toyed instead with the diamond pendant which hung like a comfort blanket about her swan neck. Until a sharp word from the woman behind her, called for her (clandestinely) to cease such fidgeting at once.

They were not unlike, for all that one was mother to the other, and the mother by no means prepared to allow for her child to cast her to drab in comparison. For the sea-green eyes of Eressild, glistened as though polished by the glorious sun itself. The lady’s dark hair was still cast long and loose about her shoulders, betraying her gathering clasp on a much missed youth, and scarcely streaked with any slivers of grey hue excepting that embellishment of dewy netted silk that matched her pearl-white frock and matching shawl. She was as utterly at ease as her daughter seemed not, and though she had entered the room behind her protégé, Eressild was far from being the entourage. All who laid eyes about the easy grace, the confident poise, were left with the understanding that she stood the bride, succeeding but a bridesmaid. And if any had an inkling that the daughter should one day equal the mother, they should be rightfully alarmed to observe both the ladies of Lond Côl together.


Arkadhur turned where he stood, so that he faced away from the unusual couple, as much as he could hardly stand to. And Heledir, beside him, quite misunderstood the intrigue which was evident for all his 'friend's best efforts. The Umbarian was readying himself, and the Lord supposed that he knew by now what that meant.

*Post was initially posted in the previous thread but has been altered to allow for a revision of plot and a continuation of the story moving forward*
**(EDITED FOR IMPROVED ICON)

[Ercassie]

Lord Heledir Estennin

On Tolfalas, Dead of Night - FLASHBACK - before the War of the Ring
A secret meeting with Devedir Thôrmaetha and his son (Trevadir)
Private with @Rillewen

The smuggler mentioned his son, and by elimination could only be referring to the young man beside him. Heledir took a short moment to consider the two for similarities and was surprised that he had not noted it from the first. For certain there was a likeness, in appearance if not in temperament. Still, the fact of Devedir having raised the matter of their relation, was enough for the Lord to conclude that yes, the smuggler was also about this ‘arrangement’ for the sake of someone else. If not to recover his child then clearly to feed him, perhaps to educate him. For the youth did not look to be astutely aware of the situation at all.

Swallowing his disapproval, the astronomer of Dol Amroth shifted on his uncomfortable seat. He let the insults slide, for he knew better than to antagonise anyone who could impact on his chances to see his own child again. Water was dripping somewhere in the deep recesses of the cave, like a timepiece counting down the moments he was wasting, the soundtrack to his daughter running out of time. Every minute that he delayed, even in the face of such intolerable rudeness, was another minute that Gael had to endure the horrors of Umbar.


Heledir had not risked alerting his land gentry relations, by begging for the entirety of his year’s allowance to be gifted all at once, just to lose his composure now. And more than that besides. He might already be cut off from those relatives who still held the family estate. The descendants of the first born son. He had never begrudged them his living out an actual career and job in Dol Amroth, and it had been, as jobs go, a particularly comfortable one. Serving the courts of the Prince, and his formidable navigators. He was a small fish in the vast pond of affluence that was Belfalas, and he knew it. Like all those who existed on the generosity of his more fortunate kin, and a good family name. He might have suspected that had been why he was selected. Because he was rich enough to get what they wanted, but not so important to be noted by those who might wonder at his recent erratic behaviour.

But then, he reminded himself. It was his daughter that the corsairs had selected. He was only fortunate enough to be in a position to maybe buy her back. Not all unfortunate damsels with fair faces had fathers with deep pockets. And he dared not presume what became of them.
No, Lord Hollin, if that was his real name, and by this point, Heledir was not entirely convinced, had promised him. The appeal of his child for Umbar’s entertainment had it’s inevitable expiry date. Her worth in coin though, would extend their want to not dispose of her as soon as she began to outlive her use. They had kept their word thus far. He had received, ribbons, locks of her hair, and the parent in him determined that meant that she was still alive. Now, in order to regain her, he had only to … to ..


“You will get your payment,” Lord Estennin promised the arrogant man across from him. He tried to avert his gaze from the lad, for even glancing at the boy, dragged into all of this. Did he know ? Did he even realise what the stakes were ? “Just make sure that your ship is where it is supposed to be, when I arrive with .. what was asked for.” Any effort to sound commanding in this reminder dwindled as did his sentence, toward the very thought of what he had been asked to obtain. To steal, he corrected himself with a mental despair, which took his actual shoulders down into a physical depression.

They expected him to steal the Red Arrow of Gondor, out of the Seventh Circle .. Perhaps he had wronged to declare at the outset, just how highly he prized his only child. But how could he have known that it would come to this ?


“He said that I could count on you, that you had done this sort of thing before ..” There was something of a question in there somewhere. But Heledir was not keen on the answer, in whatever form it took. “It’s not going to be easy. So I hope that you are all that I have been led to believe ..” He fought to keep from scoffing, yet that arrogance of rank was hard to subdue after so long. The man before him was surely of Gondor and this was the best means he could find to feed himself and his child ? Surely there must be other .. Better ways to focus that to waste any time on the concerns of the smuggler before him. “For your son’s sake,” he said though, refusing to hope any for the man himself. And slowly he rose, off the small chest, and stood aside, though unwilling. One hand gestured toward Devedir that the weight of the coin at least would now be his to bear.

Heledir’s heart was already heavy enough for him to manage.

[Rillewen]

Private with @Ercassie and @Lantaelen

An ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth.
Before the War of the Ring, TA

“you seem that grievous of expression, one might wonder at what ails you.”

“My apologies,” Heledir stammered, averting his gaze to the floor he yearned to swallow him whole. “The last thing upon my mind was to present any symptom of distress that may cause alarm ... to my friends.” His efforts were rewarded with the slow uncurl of a smile.

“You might then try a little harder, toward that end,” he was advised, as his guest leant close enough to impart with this wisdom. “I am so dearly looking forward to meeting your friends.”

It broke Heledir thenafter to clap the foreigner about his back with hearty gusto, and might have struck any observing as odd, at the capricious change. For the nobleman’s fair features were enlivened, each aspect of his countenance an actor with it’s role.

Lord Ademar 'Ansellidus', with Lady Alyssa 'Ansellidus'
At the same event

A snatch of conversation, meant for no other ears besides the two involved in it, drew his attention in more than it already was. Ademar had first glimpsed the man from across the room, and the first thought to enter his mind was, 'Something about him looks familiar.' With his lovely wife quietly at his side, Mar had then proceeded to slowly work his way nearer, to try and get a better look at him. 'I'm sure I've seen him before, somewhere.' He thought as he watched Arkadhur for a little while, trying to decide if he was actually the same man or not. He heard the name that he had been introduced as, but was that really his name?

After a bit, Ademar turned to Alyssa. "Lord Heledir's daughter has gone missing, captured by Umbarian corsairs, or so the rumors say," he told his wife quietly, informing the young noblelady of news she may not have heard from the gossiping mouth of her maidservant.

Startled to hear such tragic news, Alyssa looked at him in surprise, but didn't have a chance to make a reply. "Suppose you speak a few words in consolation?" Her husband suggested, before she could think of anything to say to the first comment. The order was spoken very quietly, and subtly, but she knew that he must have some reason for it. As she had come to learn, Ademar never did anything without some reason that benefited him somehow. With a silent nod, she submitted to what he wished, and allowed him to guide her by the elbow toward the man who looked so terribly sorrowful.

And so the couple, each with very different motives, approached the two men. And thus, it happened that Ademar was near enough to hear when this subtle conversation occurred between the other two men. And, hearing the implications behind them, coupled with the sorrowful-looking man's suddenly changed countenance, helped to confirm Mar's suspicion. That was most certainly the same man he had seen before, and he knew exactly where he had seen him. Certainly not in the courts of Dol Amroth, mingling with the area's most prominent citizens as if he were one of them. He hid a smirk, recognizing a wolf posing as a sheep. He was very curious to learn what the Umbarian was doing here, of all places.

Dressed up in her finest clothing, which her husband had insisted upon having made for her, displaying all the finest jewelry that he had given her..perhaps some attempt at winning her affection, though it didn't work.. Alyssa's soft, strawberry-blonde hair was styled very elegantly, curled and twisted and very uncomfortable. Still, the very young noble-lady looked truly elegant, just as the wife of a rich nobleman should look. The real struggle was in maintaining the smile that she ought to keep in such a public place, for appearances. Although, given the nature of the news Ademar had bestowed upon her ears.. the smile fell away to a more somber expression, sympathy reigning in her eyes as she watched Lord Estennin. Approaching the astronomer at Ademar's bidding, she noted how terribly sad and grief-stricken he looked, and she sympathized wholeheartedly... she often felt exactly the same way, only she must hide those feelings. His expression changed, and she assumed the other man must have told some joke, but there was still a certain look about his eyes.. a look of pain, sorrow, loss. She felt that, too. As someone who had lost her whole family in one horrific blow, she knew that look, and she knew that the smile he wore was only a front, to hide the pain of his loss, his worry.

"Lord Estennin," Ademar greeted the Astronomer as the young couple stepped up to greet the other pair. "Good evening to you. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your..friend." He glanced over at Ark, wondering.. did he recognize him as well? He offered a pleasant smile. "Also, my wife wished to speak some words to you," He added, lightly nudging her toward Heledir, as he turned then to Arkadhur. "Lord Menilzir, wasn't it?" He added, stepping aside in such a way that, to keep facing him as was only polite to do, Arkhadur would have to turn and be steered a little further from Heledir. In a lower voice, meant so that Heledir would not hear, he added, "I believe we may have some mutual... friends." He paused, with a knowing look directed at the man to see if he might need more explanation. "I'm sure I've seen you before, in the company of certain..others?" He added.

Meanwhile, oblivious to her husband's more hushed conversation, Alyssa managed not to stumble when he all but shoved her forward, but rather stepped forward gracefully and offered a proper curtsy to the worried father, with a most sympathetic expression. "I am truly sorry to hear about your daughter, Lord Estennin," She said softly, but with all sincerity. "I pray that she is unharmed, and that you shall be reunited with her soon." She meant that wholeheartedly. "Though I never have known Gael very well, personally, I fully understand the terrible grief and worry you must feel." She added, the same pain and sorrow reflected in her own hazel eyes, as she briefly lifted them to meet those of the Astronomer.

[Rillewen]

Private with @Ercassie

Devedir and Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Meeting with Lord Heledir Estennin
Roughly a year before the War of the Ring

The look of pathetic surprise that crossed the Nobleman's face was well worth having mentioned that the boy was his son. Dev held back a smirk as he enjoyed the results of his jibes and insults. It was bothering the man, even if he didn't want to let it show. The spoiled rich man wasn't used to not getting his way. He was used to being waited on, spoken to with respect by those who were his underlings. Well, Dev was certainly no one's underling. He worked for himself. He'd made sure of that, by procuring his own ship and making himself captain. No one told him what to do, or where to go. He chose to accept this particular job because he was sure it would prove highly profitable, not only to himself, but to his crew. They depended on their captain making the best choices for the lot of them, and this would see all their pockets filled with gold. Til they hit the next harbor, anyway.

Pulling a flask from a pocket somewhere, the arrogant pirate took a leisurely drink. As if to further rub in the fact that he had something to quench his thirst, while the rich man sat without so much as a drop of water. Poor planning on his part - that was not Dev's fault. He packed his refreshment away again and turned his gaze back to the nobleman, as if to challenge him to dare ask for a drink again. "My ship will be where it is supposed to be," He assured the man coldly. "You needn't be concerned on that regard. Just you be sure that you don't lead a swarm of guards along at your heels, when you come." He warned.

Listening to the veiled words and hints at double meanings, Trev glanced from the stranger to his father, and back. His gaze shifted from one to the other, then finally settled back down to his flute. Tracing the lines of etching as a means of distracting himself from what felt like a tense situation, Trev thought back to his friends. Hopefully, Nal and the others weren't too upset at him for choosing to go with his father. But Nal, of all people, ought to understand. Surely, he'd get it. After all the years his own father was little more than a bump on the sofa... and then all of the sudden he sprang back to life, like some hero awakened from a deep slumber to rescue his only son from those evil Umbarian folks... Nal had his father back, at long last. And now..so did Trev. His closest and oldest friend could not begrudge him that, right?

Brushing his thumb over the emblem etched at the base of his flute, which marked the undying friendship of the five who had once been inseparable, Trev listened to talk about payments and the ship being somewhere, and guards. Things which seemed somehow both mysterious and clear, at the same time. Whatever the case, it all seemed to verify his previous conclusion that they were setting off on a rescue of this girl, from wherever she was held captive. Probably, he meant whatever guards were holding the young lady captive, so that explained that. Then, he glanced up in slight surprise to hear what the man had just said to his father. For his son's sake? What about him? Trev glanced questioningly toward the man, trying to make sense of what he meant. Did he think that Trev might be in danger?

An eyebrow raised at this latest statement, and a moment later, Dev began to laugh. "For..my son's sake?" He repeated incredulously. "Is that supposed to be some sort of threat?" The pirate asked, an undercurrent of contempt lacing the amused tone. He couldn't say why this was so hilarious. If only the nobleman knew... Obviously, he must assume that every father cherished their snot-nosed brats as much as he apparently did. Dev struggled to regain control of his amusement. It wouldn't do to say anything that might turn the teenager against him, after all. He hoped to shape his 'heir' into a useful member of his crew, and at this point, the matter was still a little delicate in that area. "Your threats have no power here, Lord Estennin," He added, with something between a smirk and a sneer. "You do your part, and I'll do mine. If you're lucky, we'll both get what we want out of this." He smiled. "Rest assured, I've done this often enough I shan't have any difficulties, on my end. You're the one with the difficult task ahead, not I." Waving a hand toward the chest the man had finally relinquished, Dev spoke to the boy, "Check that the payment's all there, son." The captain suggested, entrusting the task to the most recent addition to his crew.

Hopping up from his seat upon the ground, Trev tucked the flute into his belt, as if it were a dagger, and crossed the space between himself and the nobleman, keeping a wary eye on him. He wasn't sure what the man meant by that remark, but he could take care of himself. He'd learned some useful skills in fighting, after all, absorbing everything Ryn brought back to the others from his training with the ranger who taught him to fight. And while Trev wasn't sure how exactly to verify that the payment was correct, he was pleased to be of some use to his father, and to do more than just sit and observe. Maybe this was an indication that he would even get to participate in the rescue itself! He was eager to prove his usefulness, and hoped he might even manage to impress his father. But fighting didn't seem to be needed here, so that would have to come later.

There was no lock upon the chest, so it didn't take much effort to get the clasp open, and the lid raised. And when he did, Trevadir's eyes widened in amazement. Gold! The chest was filled to the brim with glittering coins of gold, like something he would have thought to find in the lair of a dragon. Jaw dropping slightly in awe at the sight, the teenager slowly reached to pick up a small handful of the coins, letting them slowly clink back onto the pile. "Wow..." He breathed out softly, then glanced toward the nobleman with a new sense of wonder. That he had been able to procure such a treasure, seemingly at the drop of a hat, spoke of what sort of wealth he must have access to. This must be more than his grandmother had earned in the entire span of years her grandsons had been alive! Trevadir wondered if the man was accustomed to paying such massive amounts of gold just for...well, whatever this was. He turned and looked questioningly toward his father.

Dev watched calmly, without stirring from his place. He smiled as he watched his son open the chest. The contents glittered merrily in the flicker of the fire. The wide-eyed expression on Trevadir's face was quite satisfactory. Given how poor the boy's grandmother happened to be, and how she probably barely scraped together enough to keep food on the table for herself, let alone two growing boys... it was probably more gold than Trev had ever seen in his life. Even Dev's parents wouldn't have had access to view that kind of wealth. Letting Trev see the kind of riches they were dealing with here, it was a good way to get him further involved, further hooked. He'd learn what it was like to have money to burn, and then how could he ever want to go back to a meager, starving lifestyle of poverty, after that?

"Don't worry, Estennin," Dev spoke up with a deceptively cordial smile, after giving Trevadir a moment to be suitably impressed and amazed by the sight of all that treasure. "Your devotion toward your daughter will certainly be rewarded." He motioned for Trev to come away from their haul. Easing the lid shut again, Trev stepped back and stood beside where his father remained seated. "So, Pelargir, then." The pirate mentioned, reminding Lord Estennin of the previous arrangements. "You'll take the ferry from Harlond, and my ship will be waiting at the arranged spot, to receive you, and..the goods you wish to transport." It involved far less risk for Dev, to make the other man come to him, than to come closer inland to await his passenger where it might not be so easy to navigate back out to sea without hindrance from guards. And his tone left no reason to suggest that the matter might be negotiable. "Until then?" And with that, he subtly suggested that this meeting had come to the point of wrapping up, since there could not possibly be any more reason for Heledir to linger.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Silinde Merenion & Tinnuriel Glórinian (11)

The daddy remark lingered in Silinde’s mind, a thing he hadn’t thought of so far. He was not even sure if he was capable of conceiving children at all. He had heard strong stories of other men, but feeling more or less ashamed he had hidden his own truth and never thought about it. Instead he had trained and fought, and aided where needed. The essence of being a man lay around his name and the amount of successes he had achieved. Not what existed below the waist. Aye, it was there, but just for body waist. Not more. He knew about women as his sister Nilida had told her monthly periods. But had Tinnuriel really them those? Or worked the reproduction system in a different way with her? The way she had voiced he would make a good father, got the impression she knew enough she was healthy and he was, and she didn’t question there would not be any children. Could he? Or was he a biological failure? Would Tinnuriel have him still them too, or would she choose another man? The starlight had no answers to those thoughts, and he kept them private, not voicing them. Nor displayed they on his face.

But the quietness did trigger Tinnuriel’s attention away from the stars. What was it now that bothered Silinde’s mind? Despite his optimistic believe in being a knight, which was rather shallow in her opinion, there hid another Silinde underneath, one troubled with thoughts not that positively. He was likely more pessimistic than the surface would tell you. How he was able to hide that about him? From day one he clung on rather strongly to the things he knew. Did they give them security? Or was it assumed security? Time would iron out the truth about him anyhow. Life for her looked rather pleasantly as she had found out. In the first days she was not that sure about Silinde and she had challenged him more than once. He got an odd way of responding. It was Mannish, not Elven. But behaviour could be adopted and was not bound to a race. An elf could have hobbit behaviour too. Caring for the little things in life and leave the big problems out. She had known enough people of her own kind who chose for such policies. But Silinde was not that way. He was rather unsure about himself, even as a knight. He questioned too much. Tinnuriel liked to brighten up his pessimistic mood. He wasn’t always, but at times?

They were quite a couple together, in what a couple months were. But was Silinde steadfast? What he follow his oath, or join her? Tinnuriel wanted the second, but he would do it? If Silinde was really mortal, most of his best years were already over, and the few left she wanted to have him at her side. She felt a bit like a spider capturing her victim. But if Silinde was not mortal, she would be saving him from a false life that could not continue in the long stretch of time. After some time he dozed off in what humans called sleep, but the elves the dreamlands. She watched him until the dark fell. What his dreams were Tinnuriel could only guess. Finally she gave herself to her own dreams, and just dreamt of the man across her. Was he dreaming of her too? The future would sort of how their lives would become, but first a new path had to be decided and that would not come so easy as either now thought. But with the rising sun on a new morning new ideas would flow into solutions, neither sleepers now was knowing now. The stars blinked clear in the peaceful night.

End.

[Lantaelen]

(Private with @Ercassie and @Rillewen)

The Lords Dimaethor, Zâinabên & Abrazimir, Swan Knights of Dol Amroth
An ostentatious party, prior to the War of the Ring, TA

The pair of horsemen came to a striking halt within the courtyard of the party estate, received by the groomsmen and stablehands in livery of the hosting family. From the back of the steeds the two men dismounted, dressed in fine raiments and polished black leather boots. Belts around their waist, albeit with no swords, they wore great sleeveless surcoats over their garb, in the styling of their House, quartered between two colors. The top right upon their upper torso and lower left upon their legs, the bright blue of the hue of Dol Amroth. And on the inverse, top left, bottom right, the sable black of the color of Gondor.

Both men, father and son, after a brief moment to cleanse themselves of the wear and grit of riding, oriented their appearances before making their way up the steps and through the doors to join the congregation within.

While it was a party, neither men came with genuine intent to solely mingle and nourish upon the offerings. They came with business in mind, for there was a War to fight, and continue, the sinews of which required support, in the form of wealth and material, garnered through donatives from families and individuals not so inclined as the bellicose and war mongering scion of the House of Dimaethor. Zâinabên, aged, but robust and intriguing, intended to restore his family’s status and position through the furnaces of war. A courtier about the Prince’s castle by the sea, in Dol Amroth, he intended to raise his standing by waging his own private war against the Realm’s enemies. Together with his son, Abrazimir, they would cajole, barter, extort if necessary, the means to do so.

Abrazimir had mind to express his trepidation yet again to his father as they entered into the decorated, lively halls of the party. ”Surely mother is more suited for the small talk of such gatherings.” He voiced quietly at the rear of his father’s shoulder. He was taller than Zâinabên, who had shrunk somewhat with the burdens of age, but both men were broad shouldered and capable, veterans of the numerous wars and skirmishes and violent debates that Gondor had with it’s foes.

”Time is the great enemy of our kind, and your mother exasperates this curse with her small talk of suitable evening wear and fashionable colors. When they arrive later, she will partake. Until then, you must suffice.” Zâinabên retorted, in that brisk manner of speaking he had, as if addressing subordinates on a parade ground and not his own son and chief lieutenant in the workings of their family.

Lord Zâinabên at least displayed his educated charm and diplomacy upon greeting the host and hostess of the party, thanking them for their hospitality. Abrazimir followed at present, nodding his own greetings, and only speaking when required, still uncertain in his mind how one went about asking for the boons his father required in a tactful manner. Yes, our foes beset us with innumerable opposition, please empty your personal treasuries for us to fund a small force to poke the smallest of holes in this net that surrounds us. The Great Foe had returned from the shadowy past. Some didn’t believe it. Others felt it was all doomed. And many, it seemed, were content to stick their heads in the sand and believe it wasn’t happening. Who fell into which category here?

The pair made their way through the party, greeting all they could to get the niceties out of the way, before Zâinabên would set his sea-grey eyes upon potential marks who might serve his purposes. Abrazimir though found his own sea-grey eyes falling upon familiar faces, and touched at his father’s sleeve to make him aware. ”The Ladies Azrubêl.” He nodded towards two women. Their neighbours, across the waters of Lond Côl, supposedly their equals in rank and standing, one-time united in kinship, one-time set in arms against one another in the tribulations of their people’s histories. But today, now, they were all to be friends and allies, right? The shadow would consume them all regardless.

Lord Zâinabên made his way towards the Ladies Eressild and Ilisy, hands folded behind his back. ”One Lady Azrubêl, two Lady Azrubêls, what a remarkable novelty.” He said, in a tone that was confusing, as it sounded both courteous and mocking. The late Lord Araldur had been his friend, a contemporary in the Swan Knights, together raiding the Havens of Umbar in better times. Araldur’s family, what he left behind though? Zâinabên clearly didn’t think so.

”And yet I don’t see the Lord Azrubêl amongst your company.” The elder Dimaethor pointed out, referring to Lord Emedlir, the son of the previous Lord’s younger brother. Only a babe, they said. And yet, responsible as head of such a powerful and influential House. Such possibilities for management, for diligence, for the use of such wealth and material, wasting away, when it should, obviously, be put to something useful, like what Zâinabên desired.

Abrazimir at least smiled, to his colleague and kinswoman, Lady Isys and towards a respectable matron such as Lady Eressild. ”Kinswoman.” He greeted the other Swan-Knight.

”Enjoying the party?” Zâinabên continued his greeting. ”The Lady Dimaethor sends her felicitations and greetings, and will soon be joining us.” He informed them, knowing Lady Orelnith Dimaethor shared an affinity for interactions with their neighbourhoods. Zâinabên was only focused on the business at hand, yet too stubborn to see the powerful asset a certain Lady in front of him could play in his designs, if he but open his eyes and mind to her…

[Dungeon Delver]

The Harrowing of the Larks
A Pub in Dol Amroth
(Private For Now)

Jam ciemny jest
Wśród wichrów płomień boży
- Behemoth, “Lucifer”

There was no better in all Middle-earth than Frost when it came to languid lounging and leering. Over the course of seven decades of life, he’d perfected a lazy countenance and easy manner. However, no man or woman should be lulled into such a sense to believe that Frost was not dangerous. He was a spider setting a trap, facades and veneers were all part of the games he played. Politicking was not so hard when one could manipulate all the players with a variety of glances and meaningful gestures. There was always risk, of course, but a little risk was never going to stop the scion of House Nûlukhô.

Narakazûl shifted in his seat, but Frost held in tightly to his side. The young man, a leatherworker’s apprentice and Frost’s newest paramour, looked uncomfortable with the argument that was brewing.

It was not really an argument so much as a volumed discussion. That’s how Frost chose to see it anyway. The Swan Knight, bedecked in silver and blue armor looked out of place in the pub. It was not a seedy dockside pub filled with grimy folks and a fishy smell, nor was it a tradesmen’s pub with heaps of sawdust floating in the air and bawdy music echoing off the beams. It was a high-end pub, the kind of pub into which only the wealthiest folks in Dol Amroth could gain entrance. It was closer to a restaurant than a pub, but quibbling over nomenclature and proper designations were the province of tax collectors and landlords, neither of which was a profession Frost engaged in. The Swan Knight was still dressed in the livery of his profession and had more than a few askance eyes glaring at him. Intrusions into a sanctum such as this was a serious faux pas and they were going to let him know. Perhaps a word or two to his superior could do the trick.

“I don’t see how this is any of your concern, foreigner,” he said.

“Are the Fisher Kings not your concern?” Frost asked, keeping his temper in check. “Are they not a plague on your city as they are in all the cities they nest in?”

“The Fisher Kings are a myth,” the Swan Knight said, his voice unconvincing.

“They’re as much a myth as the Queen Berúthiel’s Revenge. Only they don’t sail away on the evening tide. They’re a plague. A silent, virulent, ever-present plague. They can go unseen, but nothing about them can go unfelt. Tell me, good knight, do you not feel their fingers?”

The Swan Knight sneered. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

“That you and most of the Swan Knights are in the employ of one or more Fisher King and you likely don’t even know who it is.” Frost was flat and blunt. He wore black and gold lacquered nailguards and clacked them against the table. He stared at the Swan Knight, his deep ocean blue eyes boring a hole into the man’s forehead.

“How dare you!” The knight’s hand went to his sword.

“Really?” Frost said, showing no sign of alarm. “You are going to defend your honor in a crowded pub filled with people looking at you like a wet dog? I’m sure that will prove your innocence.”

“I am no in the employ of some criminal lowlife. I am a Swan Knight of Dol Amroth, a proud member of–”

“No doubt, no doubt,” Frost said, interjecting. His fingers began to trace lines on the table, back and forth. “But that does not mean that you are not in the employ of a Fisher King. They have money and money is what makes your beautiful port city thrive so. Is it not?”

The knight remained silent but did not remove his hand from the hilt of his sword.

“How many of you work for him, eh?”

“Enough probably to deal with you,” the knight said with a smirk that did not fit his earlier protestations.

A nail guard chipped at the wood, but otherwise Frost made no move. His companion, though, shifted uncomfortably again.

“Well now,” Frost said with a smirk, “now at least we’re getting somewhere. Which one of the Fisher Kings pays you and your lovely wife?”

“Keep my wife out of this,” the knight hissed.

“Answer the bloody question,” Frost rejoined, nail guards still moving across the table.

“I don’t, I’m not going to tell you anything, Umbarean.”

Frost’s eyes glinted evilly. “Does he pay you this much?” Frost produced a sack of coins that spilled out over the table, fifteen gold and platinum coins, all stamped with the White Tree.

The Swan Knight picked one of the coins up and glared suspiciously at Frost. “How’d you get these?” his hand had drifted away from the blade at his hip then, quick as a snake, it was back. “Answer me, pirate!”

“Call me a pirate again and I will gut you and strangle you with your foul intestines, understood?” Frost was dangerously calm. “I might be from Umbar, but I have a very long reach. I thought you’d be more comfortable with your own coins? Should I give you some with the face of the Golden One on them? Would that settle those puffy feathers of yours, Swan Knight?”

The blue swathed knight grumbled and collected the coins. “This will give you two answers.”

“Only two, eh? What do you know of the desires of this Fisher King to expand beyond Dol Amroth?”

The Swan Knight laughed derisively. “All the questions in the world and you waste one of yours on that? I have no idea. I’m too young to be in the inner circle.”

Frost nodded, his lazy grin not dwindling an inch. “And my last, I suppose. Will that be enough to keep you on retainer? There’s room for expansion.”

“You want to be one of the Fisher Kings, don’t you?” The Swan Knight looked smug, believing that he’d uncovered something. “This much, each week. And I’m not meeting you in some fancy pub next time either. The Merman’s Wench.” He stuffed the coins in an unseen pocket. They clinked and jingled.

“Won’t you join us for a drink, now that we’re all settled?” Frost asked.

“Not on my life,” answer the Swan Knight.

“In that case, give your wife my warmest regards.” Frost waved a dismissive hand, and the Swan Knight turned a deep shade of angry red. He said nothing and stormed out, nearly running one of the waiters down in the process.

The city, like nearly all the cities and towns in Gondor, was a beautiful one. A great white exterior bedecked in marble and archways that the rest of the world might envy. There was commerce and comradery. Life was good in Dol Amroth, if you were wealthy. Frost knew though, having spent more than a few winters and summers in this place, that just like all pretty Gondorian cities, it was built around a black, decaying heart. The disparity between the commonfolk and the nobility was growing more and more stark each year. The center could not hold for long. The bough was going to break sooner rather than later. The Swan Knights were not any more corrupt than any other force of law in Gondor, but they were the prickliest. Frost enjoyed pushing their buttons. It might end poorly one day, but that day had not come yet. A man from Umbar was an ill reminder to these folks, remnants of a colonialist past that sticks to them like a shadow. They deny it of course, out of hand. But they all know the truth. It is, though, a truth they cannot confront in the light of day and thus lay all the ills of the world at the feet of Umbar.

“Do you know which one is in the city?” Narakazûl asked after the Swan Knight had vacated.

Frost put an arm around the young man and pulled him in closer. “I don’t. as a matter of course. I would very much like to know though. I’ve narrowed it down to three possibilities, none very appealing. It could be the Antiquarian, a collector of rare things, a collector who does not like being told no. It could be the Barrister, a judge with the ability to send people off to the dungeon at a moment’s notice. Or it could be the Tarotist, a far-fetched choice, but a man that leads a fanatical cult should never be overlooked.”

“None of them sound particularly pleasant.”

“Well,” Frost said, taking a sip from the wine glass in front of him “No Fisher King is every going to be pleasant, myself included. That is rather the burden of being a crime lord.”

“And why do you want to become one, then? You do not seem overly cruel to me.”

“Oh you sweet lad,” Frost touched his lips then brushed back his trimmed black hair. “I am the cruelest that could ever be.”

Narakazûl gulped and looked away.

“Now, now,” Frost pulled his gaze back with a nail guarded finger. “I shan’t be cruel to you. You know well how generous I can be, no?”

The man blushed and nodded. “And you think that this Fisher King, the one in Dol Amroth is looking to expand into Umbar? Doesn’t that seem antithetical to Dol Amorth’s entire predilection?”

“Greed conquers all, my dear leather worker. Greed conquers all.”

“And the Swan Knights?” Narakazûl asked. “How do you know they’re involved? I’ve always seen them as good and righteous folk.”

“When there is no longer an enemy for one to fight, one inevitably finds a new fight and thus becomes an enemy.”

The young man shrugged and idly touched the tattoo on his wrist. “If you say so. Though I’m not quite sure what it was that you just said, so…”

“I like being philosophically vague at times,” Frost admitted. He began to draw on the table again, tracing nail guards over rivulets of dust and water droplets. “There is no more Enemy, not that he was ever a real threat in the end, and now that his shadow has passed on, the Swan Knights need something to occupy their time. They find work and coin from different places, more and more those places that provide coin are not the royal coffers. Those that provide are of less noble intentions and like a fly in honey, by the time the little flies know they’re caught, they’re doomed. The poor little rabbits are melted and reforged into something altogether different, even if it wears the same face.”

“Surely there are some good Swan Knights? If they were all as bad as you say, the Prince would have disbanded them.”

“Who is to say he has the power to do that anymore? These Fisher Kings have influence to spare. There might be one or two Swan Knights that still hold to their ancient oaths, but by and large they are rare creatures and don’t venture into the daylight very often.”

Narakazûl took a sip from the wine glass and rubbed his lips. “So, you don’t want them to go to Umbar. Why not just start your own, uh, enterprise in Umbar?”

“That is part of the plan,” agreed Frost. “But I’m afraid that I lack the resources now to both start a new venture and fight off the vultures.”

“Couldn’t she help?” the lad asked with a hushed tone, his eyes darting to the patrons of the pub suspiciously.

Frost sighed and looked about. There was no one listening that he could tell, not yet anyway. Mention the word “her” enough times though and someone is bound to start pricking up their ears. There were a dozen or more people in here, all of them likely with a connection to some powerful noble or another. The bartendrist was a large, soft woman with several tattoos scaling up her bare arms. Frost knew enough about her to know she wasn’t listening in. The two men by the door though, the two arguing over who was cheating at a game of go and who wasn’t felt too forced to be genuine. They might be trying to listen in, or they might be spying on someone else. Paranoia was as thick in this city as the morning fog off the coast. All the waiters and waitresses bore the same kind of tattoo as the barkeep. Frost assumed it was either some sort of tribal thing or they were signals. He hadn’t observed enough yet to decipher which and the woman was close lipped, even to the most tender of advances by Frost. Still. There were dozens of alcoves in this pub, all of them out of the way and designed as such so as to let as little sound escape them as possible. Frost had not been able to afford one just yet, and the addition of the Swan Knight made it more difficult, the great lumber ox had a voice that would have carried even from the bottom of the ocean. He smirked at that image. That was where that man would likely end up after all was said and done, and his poor widow, what was to become of her?

“No,” Frost said, coming back to his conversation. He placed a hand on Narakazûl's full red lips and nodded toward the two men still arguing over the game board. They each seemed conspicuously not looking in their direction, even incidentally. “She’s still out east. The collapse has given her a great many things to do in the interim. And most of her associates would look rather striking against a backdrop of milling humans. No, you and I are on our own for the time being. Who can say what the winds will give us though.”

They finished the wine and ordered a meal, honey roasted duck and summer vegetables. Once consumed, the pair made their goodbyes and thanks.

On the table, left behind, was the symbol of a massive and delicate spiderweb.

[Ercassie]

Lord Heledir Estennin

On Tolfalas, Dead of Night - FLASHBACK - before the War of the Ring
A secret meeting with Devadir Thôrmaetha and his son
Private with @Rillewen

Heledir had not intended to have it sound as a threat, but clearly that was what the smuggler was most used to hearing. And he was laughing in response regardless, at the very notion that the Lord could ever have intimidated him.

“If I were lucky, we should never have come to be acquainted sir,” the nobleman raised his chin ever so slightly, even as he was forced to sidestep and allow for the younger lad to fall upon his gold. It was something of a trial not to count himself ridiculous, or humbled, as the smuggler’s scion grasped at the coins, with such a release of wonder, as though he’d never seen anything of their like before.

“I thought you said you had done this sort of thing before ?” the Lord probed, doubting that the boy had, at least. A hoard half that size would probably had sufficed, he thought now, remorsefully. Or at least he might have given half before, and half after .. That would have been the fair way to deal. But he was not dealing with fair men here. They demanded payment up front. Else there would be no escape when the time came.


“It had better be,” he returned, a little gruffly, when promises were flung at his feet like paltry paper flowers. The entire exchange had revealed a side of himself that Heledir had not expected. At court, with his ‘new friend’ throwing a false arm around his shoulder, he had been far more compliant. But here there was nobody watching, nobody that counted any way. And here, he had just surrendered most of all his worldly goods, not to mention his own time and energy in hauling out to even strike the bargain at all. He was tired, damp with sweat, and he was aching, and even should he see this thing through, he doubted that it would ever be over. For they had him now, forever with the risk they might unveil him, as the man who stole the … that is assuming he even could manage to steal the Red Arrow .. . If he even made it back as far as home to catch his breath, it would be a miracle. But at least he had tried. He would continue to try, though it might likely be his end. For he could not have lived with himself else, to have done naught, when the chance, when hope, was dangled before him.

“I shall take the Harlond ferry,” the nobleman admitted, if only to see this thing accomplished, over. “And I will find you at Pelargir, with the .. price,” he vowed, what he could not know for certain. And he staggered on the rocky carpet of the cave, or maybe floundered with fatigue. But there was yet much still to do. No time yet to rest. “Until then, .. do me the courtesy of holding a good distance.”


It was meant to sound as though a threat, he realised belatedly. And expected the laughter that it surely would inspire even as he hastened his embellished boots across the coarse, forsaken isle; eager to be away from the eerie scene, and all of the vile things which there flourished. For all the concerns he might harbour that his precious stolen daughter would not be returned to him, as she had been before .. it was growing increasingly likely that Heledir would soon no longer resemble the man that his friends and neighbours thought they knew.

[Rillewen]

Private with @Ercassie

Devedir and Trevadir Thôrmaetha
Concluding a meeting with Lord Heledir Estennin
Roughly a year before the War of the Ring

“I thought you said you had done this sort of thing before?”

The remark only brought a faint smirk to Dev's face. "As I told you already, I've done 'this sort of thing' often enough, I could manage it in my sleep." He replied coldly, and without further elaboration. Perhaps it had been unwise to have Trevadir check the gold there, in front of the man, for it had showed him that the boy was new to all of this. Oh well, it didn't really matter. Dev liked seeing the man look miffed to see the teenager admiring the gold that had once been his, and he enjoyed watching the nobleman squirm a bit. Let him see the treasure he had just given away one last time, so he could be reminded of what he'd lost. And to see the boy practically drooling over it, was a bit like adding salt to the wound.

The pirate laughed then to hear the man's parting words, mostly at the notion that this man was still trying to pretend like he could give the orders. Trying to assert some sort of authority, here? In this situation? The very idea was absurd. "I'll be more than happy to keep my distance from you, Estennin." Dev replied with amusement, "But it has nothing to do with wanting to do you any courtesies." His scornful laughter would follow the man out of the cave, and eventually faded a few moments later. "Check that he's gone," He spoke softly to his son, unsure what sort of tricks the man might try and pull. It would be foolish to double back and try to catch them off guard, but desperate men will resort to all sorts of foolish ideas. And in his previous experience, Dev had noticed that often these rich folks tended to have no real experience with anything aside from their lavish parties, and so they might just try anything to keep from losing their precious wealth.

Noblemen were the sort of people that Devedir despised more than any other. Folks in the so called 'upper class', who sat around gathering money and buying expensive clothes and extravagant things they didn't need, throwing parties on a whim, just to show off their expensive things. Looking down their noses at people who happened to be born into the working class, and not even sparing a glance toward those in the even lower class of poverty. They employed those in the lower classes to work for them if they had skills, but in Dev's experience, they wouldn't be caught dead mingling with "lower" class people, socially. His father, Dravedir Thôrmaetha, was a respectable man, well known in Dol Amroth for his skill in taming wild birds of prey, and then using those same birds to hunt. These skills of his enabled plenty of posh, spoiled snobs to play at hunting, where, of course, the bird did all the work. But Dravedir was considered in the 'working class', and therefore, could never be anything more than that, at least to people such as this. His son had grown up around all of this, knowing it would never be possible for him to be anything more than what his father was, no matter what he did. There had been many young ladies that, in his youth, Dev had tried to speak to, only to be rejected and ordered to keep away from them. Perhaps this man was one of those who had once warned him to stay away from his daughter? He had no idea. None of them had mattered after he met the one girl in the world who didn't reject him.


Moving to the cave entrance, Trevadir peered out, watching the man depart. "He's gone," He assured Devedir, returning to the fire as his father rose to his feet and stretched. Trev grinned, eager to be able to talk now that their guest was gone. There must be so many plans to be made! There must be tons of things to discuss, and he was eager to get started.

"So, we're going to rescue her, right?" Trevadir's excited voice broke the silence that had settled into the cave.

Dev stopped in mid-stretch and gave him a puzzled look. "Rescue who?"

"The girl. His daughter, you know? We're going to be rescuing her from her captors, aren't we?" Trev could hardly believe his luck! The thought of being a part of something heroic and possibly very exciting and adventurous was thrilling, and he could hardly wait to get started. But his father's reply shattered all such hopes.

"Are you insane?" Devedir laughed. "We're not going to rescue her, boy. She's beyond rescuing, believe me." He shook his head in amusement and went to take a look at the gold, himself.

Trev watched him, puzzled. "But..."

"But?" Dev cast a sideways glance toward his son.

"Well... isn't that what he paid us for?" Trev motioned to the chest of gold, beginning to feel rather confused.

"Listen, Trev," Dev rolled his eyes and turned to face the boy. "We're not in the business of rescuing damsels in distress, and we're not about to risk our lives to help his sort... no matter how noble the cause. It's not our fault he can't hang onto what's his, but we sure can benefit from his willingness to part with what he has left." He laughed, with a motion to the gold. "We're in the business of getting rich in whatever way we can, alright? Now help me with this, will ya?" He took up one of the handles on the side of the chest.

Frowning slightly, Trev moved closer. "Then what did he pay us for?" He wondered, baffled.

"He paid for passage aboard our ship, of course." Dev grinned. "For himself.. and the 'goods' he'll be bringing with him."

"Why?" Trev folded his arms, frowning.

"Why? Because I demand payment if he wants to use my ship as a mode of transportation."

Trev joined him slowly and picked up the other side of the chest, trying to sort through all of this, and come to terms with what he was hearing. "But we could probably find her, if we tried," He argued, troubled by his father's cold-hearted attitude about it all. "I think I might even know where she is," He added, suddenly remembering something Nal had told him about his time in Umbar, about a girl who had helped him or something.

"We don't need to, I already know where she is." Dev remarked indifferently.

Trev turned toward him, surprised. "You do? Well then what's stopping us? We could rescue her!"

"I'm stopping us, because I don't want to make enemies with the wrong people. We are not going to do any sort of rescue, now just forget about it." Dev told him, his tone firm. "Now move, this thing isn't exactly light."

"But if you know where she is, then-"

"Trevadir," Dev's tone now held a warning. "Drop it."

Perhaps taking him a bit too literally, Trev dropped his end of the chest and faced his father. "We could bring her home! Maybe there's even a reward?"

Dev grunted in surprise as half of the chest suddenly fell to the ground, then put his end down and scowled at his son, one hand grabbing the front of his shirt in a firm grip, pulling him closer. "Listen, Trev. Listen carefully. That girl is the property of a very big, very dangerous man now, and believe me, you do NOT want to get him angry. He's not the sort of person you take things away from... got it?"

Trev clenched his jaw, glaring. "No, I don't get it. I thought... well, I mean, how could you not even care? She isn't property, she's a person! That's slavery! How can you not fight against that?"

"It's not my fight. And it's not like I sent her there, I had nothing to do with that." Dev shrugged as he released his son, then returned a glare of his own. "And I'm tired of hearing you argue about it. I'm captain, and I make the decisions on what we do. And we are NOT going off on some harebrained rescue mission just so you'll feel like a hero. So drop it, and help me with this chest. You do want a share of the gold... don't you?"

Still troubled, Trev looked down at the chest with a scowl. He was tempted to say no, he wanted nothing to do with all this. But to be perfectly honest, yeah, he did want some gold. But he felt torn, wanting to go off on his own to rescue the girl, but also wanting to get along with his father. It would be better if they shared some good moments, like splitting gold or something, rather than arguing and being angry at each other. But he couldn't understand how his father could be so calloused about this issue. Would he be so uncaring if it was Trev's mother in that girl's place? Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to ask that question out loud.

"Well?" Dev was waiting, arms folded, frowning.

"We're taking it to the ship, right?" Trev asked, a bit sullenly as he reached down to pick up his end again, sighing.

Dev grinned, knowing he had won that little 'battle', and patted the boy on the shoulder lightly. "Not just yet." He laughed. "Come on, there's a little hiding spot I know of. We'll just make a little "deposit" there, along the way." He revealed. "Then we get back to the ship and split up what's left with the crew." the pirate explained.

Trev stopped again, glancing at his father again. "Isn't that sort of... unfair to the others?" He wondered, unsure how these things usually worked, but it definitely sounded dishonest. And he could imagine the rest of the crew would be rather upset if they knew about it...

Dev let out a long sigh. "What are you, a walking conscience? If you're going to be like that, I'll just leave you on the ship next time." He scoffed.

Trev fell silent for a bit as he helped Dev carry the chest, frowning slightly. He was starting to see sides of his dad that he would never have expected. And he didn't like it too well. He hadn't been with him for very long, but he wasn't liking what he saw. Maybe, he thought, it would be better if they just saw each other now and then, and Trev could go back home and things could be sort of back to normal, except for the occasional visit from his dad. Everything would be better that way, surely.

After a bit he spoke up again, with a little difficulty. "I... I think I'd like to go home... when we get to the next harbor. I.. I don't want to be part of any of this after all." He decided, shoulders slumped with disappointment. He had thought his father would have been someone better than this. Someone worth knowing. But this? He was starting to think he'd liked it better before he ran into him at that tavern. While he would still like to give him more chances, Trev was starting to feel like he was getting into something he didn't want to be in. He was feeling a bit like he was in over his head... and he wanted out before he was in it even deeper.

Dev cast a glance over at him, slightly surprised to hear him say that so soon. Perhaps he'd dished out the reality of things a bit too soon, but the kid had to learn sometime. He shook his head. "Sorry.. son. That isn't going to be possible now, I'm afraid. You can't go back there anymore."

Trev stopped and looked at his father in surprise, a bit alarmed to hear that. "What? Why?"

"Estennin, of course. He's seen you here today. He knows you're with me. You think he's not going to tell anyone?" He shook his head. "By the time we get to the next harbor, your face will be plastered all over, right along with mine probably. They'd arrest you the moment they saw you, Trev. You'd be hanged just for associating with pirates. They love to hang our sort, you know." He sneered, remembering an incident where they almost managed a hanging of some pirates he knew. "You're best off sticking with me, believe me. You're safe with me, because I'll protect you. You go off on your own, and you're.. well, on your own."

Trev stared at his father, feeling his heart sink down into his stomach. He set the chest down slowly. "Why... why would he tell?" He asked, suddenly feeling desperate. "He paid us to help him with something, right? So-"

"So, he's angry about having to give up all his gold, and he's going to lash out." Devedir explained, setting his end down again. "You heard what he said, that bit about 'for your son's sake'? Remember? I know what he meant by that. He was threatening to tell the guards about you. And he'll do it, too, probably just as soon as he gets back to the mainland."

Trev sank down onto a rock, feeling as if his whole world had suddenly come crashing down around him, like the waves crashing against the rocks below. How could this have happened? If he couldn't go back, then... did that mean he could never return home? Ever? What about his friends? And his family, Grandma, and Tobedir... would he ever see them again? And then an even more terrible thought struck him. What if his grandmother saw these wanted posters that were going to be plastered everywhere? He could never bring himself to face her then... she'd be too ashamed to even look at him, and he wouldn't be able to bear that.

With a steadily growing ache in his heart, Trevedir silently helped his father hide a portion of the gold, his mind a whirl of thoughts as father and son carried the now-lighter chest across the rocky terrain to where their own little boat was tied. As they rowed out to the ship, one thought kept returning to his mind; How could he have been so stupid?

(End)

[Dungeon Delver]

The Harrowing of the Larks
On the Northern Road to Dol Amroth
(Private For Now)

I’m not Jesus
I can’t heal you
- The Ramones, “I’m Not Jesus”

There was nothing quite like the sight of Dol Amroth in the light of the evening sun. Egleriadis was surprised how much she missed it. The way the golden light caught the silvery walls and shining blue towers was magical, pure and simple. She’d lived her entire life within the city and only recently had journeyed beyond the safety of its walls. After months away, she was glad to be back. One often tests the bounds of home when they’re young, and Egleriadis was no different. She was not young anymore, but she was still close enough to that flower that she would not be called old or even middle aged. The bright flame of exuberance still reflected in her eyes.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever been away from the city?” she asked the man across from her, dressed in the white and black livery of her house.

“Ma’am?” he asked, surprised. They’d been riding in the carriage in silence for some time now, the sounds of the road and the horses being the only soundtrack to their excursion.

“Dol Amroth, what’s the longest you’ve ever been away from her?” she repeated.

“Oh, ah, well,” the guardsman said, “I suppose during the War I was gone for a few months.”

“You were a soldier in the army?” Egleriadis asked.

“A foot soldier, ma’am; just a foot soldier. In my youth. Served under the Prince.”

The air was suddenly filled with uncomfortable tension. The noblewoman herself couldn’t remember a thing about the War except for her parents being in quite a fuss over something, probably money. The house guards were gone too, probably off fighting and such. She wanted to ask the guardsman about his experiences, but that would have been imperious. She was a noblewoman and he, just a guardsman. Conversations between classes were meant to reflect business and order, idle chitchat was out of the question. She had hired this company two months ago, before she set out from the city on her tour of Gondor. Six guardsmen and two carriage drivers, added to her lady’s maid, seated next to the guardsman, a cook, and a little man who purported to be a historian but never satisfactorily gave answer to her many questions about the land they were touring.

She clasped her hands together in her lap instead. The blue silk was getting rumpled sitting in the carriage for so long. Her rings clinked together musically but the sound only accentuated the awkward air. Her lady’s maid was a young girl, sixteen if she was a day, looked as demure and skittish as a foal. She avoided eye contact with her lady.

“I’m glad you came out of it alright,” she offered at last. “And it seems to have made a decent impression on you.”

What was she saying?! She’d only meant to end the awkward tension, but her mouth seemed to have a will of its own and decided that things could, in fact, be much more awkward and uncomfortable than they already were. She fought back an angry blush. For his part, the guardsman did not look embarrassed or shamed. He nodded.

“As you say, my lady.”

A horse whinnied outside. The carriage came to a such a sudden halt Egleriadis nearly tumbled from her seat. Voices, more voices than just the carriage drivers, started shouting outside. She couldn’t make out the words. She reached for the door handle, but the guardsman’s hand stopped her. She looked at him, worry on her face. He shook his head, his other hand was on the hilt of his sword. She strained but couldn’t understand the words being shouted.

“Well—” she started, but a hard look from the guardsman stopped her.

He reached for the door himself, moving quickly but quietly. The door, however, was yanked open before he could reach it. Sunlight flooded in, blinding Egleriadis momentarily. A huge figure appeared in the doorframe; their face obscured by the light of the sun. He yanked the guardsman out and slammed the door. Egleriadis recovered just in time to shout her protestations. Her guardsman was shoved to the ground. His hand went to his blade as he rolled but when he tried to stand up again, the blades of the men around him stopped him. A crimson bloom appeared on his chest, his eyes were filled with shock and surprise, and he fell. Both Egleriadis and her lady’s maid screamed. Bows twanged and steel sang ahead of them. The other guardsmen fell to the earth, their bodies limp and lifeless.

“Now, now,” said the man that had yanked her guard out of the carriage, apparently the leader of this band of robbers. He was huge and hulking, with an ugly scar that ran from his forehead to his chin on the opposite side. He looked like an orc in Egleriadis’ mind, but his voice was strangely smooth and calm. “No need for either of you ladies to be affrighted. I’m not here to kill you.”

“Liar!” Egleriadis shouted, unable to give the ruffian a more refined response. “My guards lie dead at your feet. Of course you mean to kill us!”

He laughed, wiped the blood from his sword on the grass, then sheathed the blade and stood in front of the carriage door. “I meant to kill him, aye. I’ll not deny that. But I have no wish to kill you or your lady’s maid. Shall we keep things civil so that I am not forced to alter my approach?”

“You are a murder and a scoundrel. I will see that you are hanged for this!”

“The first part of your statement is, sadly true alas, but your second is sorely misspoken. My fair lady, I am not a man to be hanged.”

“Do you know who I am? I am Lady Egleriadis of House Amrent! My husband is—”

“Not a very good husband,” the man cut her off, “if he let such a beautiful gem as you out of his sight with such a poor guard.”

“My lady! My lady!” there was shouting from the carriage behind them, the little historian! Egleriadis’ heart froze.

“NO! No!” she shouted at the man. “No! don’t hurt him. He’s just… he’s no threat to you!”

Her words did not seem to have any effect on him. He shook his head and drew out his sword again. The historian came into view, his face covered in blood, none of it his own, he was huffing and puffing, his eyes wild with panic. “No! No! Please! Don’t hurt him. Don’t! He’s no threat to you!” She screamed again. Four ruffians materialized behind him and quickly subdued him, pushing his face hard into the ground. She could hear his sobs from here. Her lady’s maid shrieked.

“It appears, Lady Egleriadis of House Amrent, that you have a decision to make. Get out of the carriage of your own free will and have a conversation with me, or your tubby little friend here, and that maid of yours will both suffer fates similar to your guards. I am not an unreasonable man. I am confident that when you hear what I have to say, you will relent.”

What choice did she have? Men had already been murdered today on her behalf; she could stomach no more. She exited the carriage, smoothed her dress, and looked defiantly at the man, hideous as he was. His smile was vile and crocodilian, her skin crawled.

“Well? What is it you want? I’m sure the Prince’s men will be along quite soon. You have a very limited amount of time to escape after your vile deeds. What say you?”

He laughed, a deep rumbling of stones beneath the earth, it made Egleriadis’ stomach turn. “I think you have not been outside the city before and don’t know how things work in the wilds. As you can see now, my men are already disposing of the bodies of your guards and covering up the blood. What would an errant Swan Knight say? What might he think amiss here? You are a lady having a conversation with your guards before returning to the city. Perhaps you are giving us our well earned pay for protecting you from thieves and murders and highwaymen.”

She looked quickly behind him, it was true, the bodies of her guardsmen were already disappearing into the underbrush of the ditch. They were erased like so much chaff.

“What do you want, monster?”

He slapped her, hard with a leathery backhand. “For you to use terminology more suited to your station, my lady. You are not some common fisherwife. A lady of your station has a better vocabulary and I expect our parley to go much more professionally.”

“What do you want?” she asked, refusing to bring her hand to her face though it stung

“A man like me wants many things,” he said, “a wife, a warm hearth, dibbuns to fill the air with shouts of glee, a hound or two to greet me each evening, a warm bed. But that’s all beside the point for the moment, of course. I want your gold. I want to be paid what you think your life and the lives of your people are worth.”

“Or you’ll kill us all?” she asked, her temper rising.

“Yes. Yes, I will. I have no compunctions against killing you, my lady. I am a violent man of violent means.” As if to prove his point, he grabbed her left hand and yanked off two of her golden rings, one with an opal surrounded by diamonds the other a deep red ruby. Her fingers snapped and popped with his force. “A lady such as yourself does not go out on such excursions without the means by which to feed and supply herself with all the comforts she can imagine. Where is your gold?”

She did not answer. He slapped her. “Where is the gold?”

Again, she did not answer. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him. A flick of his fingers and by slight of hand a knife appeared in his hand and at her throat. “Where is your gold?”

She did not say anything, but her eyes betrayed her, she looked, only for a moment, at the storage compartment of the carriage. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

“I knew you’d see reason, darling; you are wise indeed.” He motioned to his men, and they immediately went to work ripping out all the luggage she’d brought with her. Her clothes were tossed aside into the dirt as they search each piece of luggage, their greedy, blood-soaked fingers touched all of her things, her most intimate objects of personhood. She wanted to vomit.

They all stopped when they heard the sounds of a horse coming up the road from the south, coming from the city. “Now I will teach you a free lesson, Lady Egleriadis of House Amrent. You are about to see how the world works.”

A Swan Knight rode up, his armor a brilliant white and his helmet shaped like the titular swan. He looked regal in his finery; a man chosen by the Prince. “Gentlemen, my Lady. It seems you are in distress. Might I offer some assistance?”

Tension filled the air. Egleriadis’ hands shook. The man had stepped away from her, the knife disappearing with the sweep of a hand. He still looked ugly as sin but stood at attention the way a guard might. He looked to his lady, waiting for her to answer. She cast a look at her historian. He had been let up and surrounded by ruffians, each of them standing as if they were about to spring. Her ears began to ring louder and louder until she could hear nothing else.

“My Lady?” asked the Swan Knight, moving closer on his steed.

“No,” she finally said, gulping down the bile that nearly overwhelmed her. “Nothing. Ah, everything is okay, good sir. We’re, uh, reorganizing a few things after a wheel broke. My men were just clumsy in their reorganization efforts.” She smiled and felt her stomach twist into a knot.

The Swan Knight looked from her to the scarred man. “Is this true sir?”

He did not miss a beat. “Aye, we were riding faster than we ought to have, the Lady being eager to return home to Dol Amroth, the wheel cracked, and we had to stop to fix it.”

The Swan Knight sighed and put his hand on his sword. “It’s dangerous to clog the road like this. Things are not as they were in the old days. Traffic and highwaymen can be dangerous. Foresee things better, my Lady, and have greater care about how you push your horses and men. Even the sturdiest can falter and snap.”

“And crack,” added the ruffian leader.

“And crack,” echoed the Swan Knight. A look passed between the two men then, a look that Egleriadis did not like.

Tension filled the air and the ringing in her ears nearly overwhelmed the noblewoman.

“Be on your way, then,” the Swan Knight said and kicked his horse into motion again. “Do not tarry long on the open road in such condition.”

Her heart sank, she felt faint, and she still wanted to vomit. They knew each other, the ruffian leader and the Swan Knight. They knew each other, have known each other. Was the Swan Knight in on it? Did he approve? Her head swam. The ruffian was there again, suddenly, she felt faint and slipped, her feet no longer able to hold her. He caught her effortlessly and lifted her up.

“Careful now, my Lady. Keep your wits about you in places such as this, tis not safe to lose oneself so freely. You are quite fortunate that I and my men are here to make sure you are well. Wouldn’t you agree? And I think that deserves come compensation. Eh lads?”

They cheered and resumed riffling through her belongs until the found a chest. The scarred man put her down against an ash tree growing on the side of the road. She gripped the drunk as tightly as she could, not willing to give her full weight to her legs yet. “You really are a—”

“Now, now! Did I not warn you against using such base and ignoble language?” he warned. “Now I shall have to exact a price from you. That Swan Knight will need his cut and to make this venture profitable for me, I will need something more.”

“You already have my rings,” she spat. “What else could you possibly want?”

“What do you have to give me?” he asked, the insinuation was nauseating.

He took a step closer; she could feel his body heat. It made her skin crawl.

“No.” she said flatly. “I do not care who you are or what you can do to me, I will not…”

He grabbed her by the neck and ripped away the necklace she’d been wearing. She’d forgotten about it in all the blood. She grabbed back at it but he held it out of her reach. His eyes were lecherous as he looked from her to the small silver chain and the item that hung on the end. A key, a simply key. Nothing special or valuable. Just a key.

He smiled, his scar turning red. “What have we here? Is this? Oh. Oh! Well then. Now I see why you didn’t want to give it up. A key like this, a key made of mithril, is worth at least a fully laden ship. And if this is just the key…” his voice trailed off as he looked at her, his dark eyes glittering with avarice.

“No!” she shouted. “Give it back!” she tried to reach for it, tried to grab it from his hands. He laughed and held it out of her reach.

“What is it, I wonder? What sort of treasure does this key open? What vast fortune does Lady Egleriadis of House Amrent hide with a key of such value? Surely a dragon’s envy, yes? Where is it?”

“I—I don’t… no, I don’t, I don’t know what it opens. I, it’s a family heirloom.” It had been the reason for her tour of Gondor. It had been the reason she’d ridden out from the safety of her home to the wild, unruly lands beyond. Each stop was a place her family had holdings in, yet the key was not from any of those places she’d found and tried. She was coming home to search through the records in the library. She couldn’t lose the key. No, no she mustn’t lose it. Not when there were still so many unanswered questions. She reached for it again, straining while her captor laughed at her pitiful efforts. She slapped him. That stopped the laughter.

“You’re lucky I believe you, wench.” He grabbed her face between thick, muscular fingers. “Else I’d gut you and leave the entrails for the vultures.”

“You cannot have that!” she cried. “Anything, anything but that!” Frustration boiled up and forced hot tears from the corner of her eyes. “Please, please anything but that.”

The scarred man’s face softened. “No. I will take this, but do not think I do so callously. I am a horrid man, I know. I am vile and dark and twisted. I was forged by the War into this kind of man, a man willing to do anything to survive. While you and your husband sit on terraces that overlook the ocean, the people beneath you are drown and crushed. Each day we try to scramble just a little way further out, but its never enough to gain more than a breath of air before getting pushed back under. Learn your lessons today, Lady Egleriadis. The world is fairer with you in it, but do not think that the world cannot do without you. Give a little and rest on your laurels. Your life will not noticeably change without this key, a key that unlocks a door unknown to you and your husband too, I guess. Your lives will know little less than luxury. My life, though, my life will change forever with this. Is that not more noble? I could rebuild my life and become the man I ought to have been before the War and all the terrible things I’ve seen and done.”

Within just minutes they were gone. They melted back into the green and browns of the lands around them. Egleriadis and her people were left on the open road, bereft of all jewelry or anything of believed value. They were alive though, some of them.

“Please,” she said when her lady’s maid tried to comfort her, sobbing though she was. “Now is not the time for weeping. We are alive. Home is within sight. We must make for the city.” She touched where the necklace had been, she felt naked bereft of the weight of the key. “Then we will think of what to do.”

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie @Lantaelen

Household of Taurhebor/Talven
Arriving at an ostentatious party, prior to the War of the Ring, TA

"Quiet, both of you." Lady Duvaineth ordered with a stern glance at the three teenage boys who sat across from her and her husband in the carriage. The younger two had bickered all the way from home, the eldest occasionally getting involved in attempts at mediating. "We have arrived." She added, with a motion toward the carriage window, and indeed the carriage had stopped outside of their destination. It was irritating enough to hear them all this way, but the lady would certainly not tolerate them continuing such behavior once they were in public. She sighed, turning to her husband with a shake of her head, despairing that their sons would ever learn to get along.

"Don't worry, dear," He patted her hand with a smile. "They are yet young." He assured her. "And they will behave properly," he added with a glance of his own to the three seated across from them.

"I still don't see why I couldn't have stayed home," The youngest grumbled under his breath, anticipating a vastly boring event where everyone would stand around making dull small talk and the most exciting thing that was likely to happen would be when his mother declared they could (finally) return home. The fourteen-year-old had attended very few events of this sort, but knew basically what to expect from reports from his brother, who had been to more social events than him. After the few that he had been forced to attend, Anurion had openly declared (to his family) his disinterest in attending any more of them. There were much more interesting things he could have been doing, instead. There were trees to climb, caves to explore, and swimming to be done...

"Because I said you must come, Anurion." The Lady of the household declared. "You are not a child anymore, to spend your days always playing and getting into mischief. And I expect you to behave like a proper young gentleman the entire time you are here. That goes for you as well, Toggornir." She added to her stepson, knowing he had a tendency to wind up Anurion at times.

"Yes, of course, mother." Toggornir answered immediately, as if such a thing oughtn't even be questioned.

"I wish you would both try to follow Aearonor's example." She added, with a pleased smile toward her eldest son, who, in a few years, would come of age and come into his inheritance; The entire Taurhebor estate would become his, along with all of the responsibilities it came with. "At least he knows how to show some responsibility." Duvaineth sighed, exasperated by her younger son, who seemed unlikely to ever learn this trait that his older brother had exhibited from a young age. "When Aearonor was your age, he was already attending important meetings to discuss business propositions and learning all that he could about running the estate," Duvaineth reminded her youngest, needlessly. Anurion had to stop himself from mouthing the words along with her, he knew them so well.

At the moment, the other young man in question merely let out a soft sigh and turned toward the carriage window so that his mother would not see him roll his eyes. Watching as one of the groomsmen came to help his mother down from the carriage, Aearon leaned closer to his little brother and muttered in his ear, "If she raises that pedestal any higher, I'll break my neck falling off of it someday."

Anurion bit his lip and snickered softly at the inside joke between the brothers.

"What are you two whispering about?" Torthon Talven asked sternly, preparing to follow his wife out of the carriage, but paused to look suspiciously at the two brothers.

"Just reminding Anurion to behave," Aearon shrugged innocently.

"Actually, he was making fun of mother," Toggornir spoke up, earning a glare from both brothers.

"He was not! And you couldn't hear what he said anyway," Anurion retorted, defensive of both his brother and mother. If he had not been wearing his fancier clothes, and about to go into this fancy party thing, a fight might have broken out right there. Feeling Aearon's hand on his arm, Anurion took a deep breath and remembered himself before he lost his temper.

"I certainly hope you would not be engaging in such disrespectful behavior." The current husband of Lady Duvaineth frowned at his stepsons, his disapproving glance overlooking own son for making up such a falsehood. "Now come along, and refrain from such remarks of that sort, in the future." With that he ushered the three of them out of the carriage.



The party was quite elaborate and filled with guests each holding some sort of title or other. After greeting and thanking the host and hostess for the invitation, Duvaineth and her husband ventured off to mingle and socialize with other lords and ladies present, after strongly suggesting that the boys ought to split up and mingle as well. Because, of course, Duvaineth knew that if her sons stayed with Torthon's son, more bickering would undoubtedly ensue before long. Despite growing up together, they did not get along at all.

"Well, I'm going to get a glass of wine," Togg declared, then paused before leaving the company of his stepbrothers. "Would either of you like one as well?" He asked the other two with a half-concealed smirk, and a certain tone to his voice that hinted at mischief.

Anurion turned away and ignored his irritating stepbrother, gazing about the room in search of anyone he might recognize.

"No, thank you, Toggornir." Aearon answered in a tone that was polite enough for their present setting, yet contained a hint of concealed annoyance only those who knew him well would pick up on.

"Aearon, look," Anurion whispered a moment later, catching his brother's arm lightly as Togg wandered off toward the refreshments at last. Anurion was happily surprised to spot the face of someone he considered quite admirable, there at the party, just across the room! "She's here. Mother didn't mention she would be here!" He whispered to his brother, blue eyes wide in awe at the lady knight just a short distance away. The highly impressive lady knight who had defied the stereotypes and became a champion at jousting tournaments, and who, reportedly, cared not about the gossip against her.

Aearon turned to find out who his little brother had spotted, and his blue eyes widened marginally as well. He covered his surprise better than his younger brother, however. "Mother probably didn't know," Aearon replied with a small grin. "I'm sure she would have mentioned it, had she known," He mentioned, though knew her comments would not have been positive.

His mother, of course, was among those who found it highly inappropriate for a lady to do... well, any of the the things lady Ilisys Azrubel had done. 'Playing' with weapons. Training alongside men. Dressing in all that armor of all things! Not to mention having a male squire, and then having the audacity to compete against men, on top of all else! And going off on quests without an escort or anything! They had heard all the disapproving gossip, yet neither of them cared what their mother said. Aearonor thought it was great that she was so independent, and had told Anurion, secretly, that he hoped their own little sister would grow up to have the courage to break free of Society's expectations and restrictions, and that she would achieve whatever goal she wished in her life. He didn't dare tell their mother this, of course.

"Let's go and say hello," Aearon suggested to his little brother, eager to have a chance to actually greet such a 'celebrity'. Neither of the brothers had missed a single tournament in which this lady knight had jousted, and had loudly cheered for each of her victories, despite their mother's disapproving glances at them. Aearon and Anurion both found it very impressive that she was bold enough to do such things, and therefore had declared her their favorite competitor of the tournaments.

"Say hello? You mean.. talk to her?" Anurion repeated with eyes wider still, as if it were unthinkable to do such a thing. In fact, it didn't occur to him that they could do such a thing. To think of getting to speak to someone that was practically a hero as far as he was concerned.. could they really do that?

Aearon laughed at the astonished look on his little brother's face. "Of course we can. Mother told us to mingle and greet people and all that. Do you think she'll bite?" He asked with a teasing grin. "It can't hurt to congratulate her on her last tournament, and wish her well on the next one. Right?" He mentioned with a little amusement. "Come on, it's only polite, and anyway, we may not have such a good chance again." He started at a casual pace through the room, heading in the general direction of where the admirable lady stood with her mother, whom Aearon had sort of met during some of the business meetings he had attended with his mother and stepfather.

Anurion couldn't argue with the seventeen-year-old's reasoning, and admired the boldness of his big brother as he trailed along after him. But then paused as he saw who had just walked up to do the same, or he could only guess it must be for the same reason that Lord Dimaethor had approached Lady Isys and her mother. "Wait.. Aearon," the younger caught the older's arm, hesitating. "Are you sure you want to go over there? Look who just walked up to her," He muttered, nodding toward the future father-in-law of his brother.

Aearon paused, then sighed softly. "Well. I suppose I ought to greet him at some point, sooner or later." He acknowledged, reluctantly. "Obligations and all that, though I would prefer later..." He cast a glance around at the others in attendance at the party, but didn't see the rest of the Dimaethor family yet. It was difficult to tell whether he was relieved or disappointed that Aearonor's 'intended' was not anywhere in sight. Bringing a hand up to lightly touch the 'good luck charm' he always wore.. a medallion of an oak tree inside a circle.. the older brother remained where he was for now, debating. They could delay approaching the lady knight for a few moments, right? And then he could put off the obligation of polite talk with the rather intimidating Lord Dimaethor. In fact, if he was really lucky, the man might even wander off to talk to some other lord or lady, and then the brothers could approach the younger Lady Azrubel without being obliged to speak to him at all.

[Ercassie]

Lord Heledir Estennin and ’Lord Hollin Menilzir II’
An ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth. With Ademar and Lady Alyssa Ansellidus
Before the War of the Ring, TA. @Rillewen

But a single step was managed apiece, toward the ladies of Lond Côl, before the two gentlemen were ambushed, by an alternative couple who looked both intrigued and awkward, respectively. Heledir managed to raise his eyes to meet yet further of his peers who he was unwillingly subjecting to the threat of his ‘new friend’. Thus though the young lord (Ademar) greeted him politely, the astronomer was at a loss to return the kindness. His mind was truly not upon socialising this eve. And though the notion of swanning about the festooned halls of extravagant friends, had ever been a matter of pride for the noble, now he felt only guilt unwavering to even stand here. As though his dirty secret, the things he had been blackmailed into managing .. would be obvious for all and sundry to observe. The nobleman could not imagine but that he must appear different, for all that he had been told to keep the ‘depths’ of their ‘friendship’ to himself. He felt as though a whole other person had cracked out of himself and replaced him. How could the people he had known all of his life not notice that ?

Thankfully, and at the same time not, Lord Ansellidus seemed to be far more interested in the man beside him. The ambition appeared in fact to be mutual. And before he could properly decide if he were grateful to be spared having to introduce the two, moments later, Lord Heledir Estennin was abandoned unto the attentions of Lady Ansellidus alone.


It was more than he could manage to object. So dejected was he, that the grieved father was easy prey for the earnest sympathy of the lady. Perhaps she recognised a like one with so little desire to be here.

“You are kind to say so, Lady Alyssa,” Heledir recognised the gentle presence of one of the more ancient families of the realm. And her genuine empathy touched his fragile heart, bending his head as though to kiss the back of the young noblewoman’s hand, though he stopped short, as was proper, given his age. “Though I fear in all probability ..” he sighed, he started, and then catching the glance of Arkadhur upon him, he corrected himself. “If it were not for my good friend here, I should cease to imagine any cause for hope at all.”

His speech lifted with the flavour of falsehood in it’s progression, although he had practiced enough times since learning the lie, lest he should be so fool as to reveal it else. Not if he truly had a hope at all for his daughter’s sake, could he risk that. And the false friend that he had brought into the bosom of his most affluent associates surely was the only hope he had in having his daughter returned. But the cost of the thing … he had never supposed, when first he had fallen in with the man, that it would be such a price. Was he truly to be made villain to his neighbours, in his vain hope to prove his only child’s hope for salvation ?


The Umbarian was knocked off par from his usual form as well, as it turned out. Although he was more expert in disguising the fact. “Lord Hollin Menelzir. The Second” he agreed with the young Gondorian, with the required bow, and a lie. “But by what name ought I to know you, sir ? For sure I am required to proclaim surprise as much as shame,” Arkadhur played back into the greeting of Ademar, “that you have come to recognise me before ever I have known the chance to make your fine acquaintance ..”

To see the agent of Pharak here, of all places, was unlooked for. He had heard of the young lady’s marriage of course. The gossips of court were rife with such nonsensical matters. But he had never expected to be already familiar with the recent groom. What was Ademar even doing in Dol Amroth ? Had Keket sent him ? No, the marriage ... he recalled, remembering himself and his composure.

Thankfully there were other ‘friends’ they two had in common who were easier to reference, within such esteemed company. “For sure my dear friend, Lord Estennin must have been singing my praises yet again” the Umbarian laughed, softly, as might become a modest gentleman. “Why you can not imagine what a chore it is to keep his tongue ..”

Lady Eressild Azrubêl and Lady Ilisys Azrubêl of Lond Côl
At the same ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth. With the Lord Zâinabên and Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor
Before the War of the Ring, TA. @Lantaelen

“Lord Zâinabên,” the Lady Eressild met her neighbour with a subtle drop of her proud chin, before acknowledging the man’s son and heir who stood at his wing. “We are of course rather less remarkable to behold than any one Lord Dimaethor at such an event,” she allowed, subduing the vaguest suggestion of her private smile to a courtesy, just enough. That their very gender condemned the Ladies to a lesser standing than their ancient allies, might have been the notion taken from her words, unless it were more the ‘novelty’ of seeing the austere pair of noblemen socialising beyond their own lands.

The matriarch of House Azrubêl suspected something rather more chicanery of the gentlemen, and their unexpected presence, than simply having themselves seen for the season. Indeed, she was rarely not about a similar motive herself, but as a woman, and a widow, Eressild was rather more archetypal of the sorts of guests expected in Dol Amroth to solely be seeking entertainment and company. Two extremely excellent diversions to be sure. But rather more a bonus than the basis of her attending. Many noblefolk had made an appearance of course, only to prove they could wear, and afford, the best bounties of fashion; to declare their House thus strong without resorting to bold words. Jewels and silks were as significant weapons in the warfare of a public ballroom, as those who could bear that fairest of armour with the proper, decorous, etiquette.


“Our dearest Lord Emeredir is of a rather impressionable age,” the more senior of the two women explained away the child’s absence. “You will of course understand why we must be .. particular .. over what influences he may encounter.” It was not a question, any more than it was an apology, though the lilt in the lady’s voice might have somehow painted it in either of those hues. Her nephew was of course heir to their entire estate, and the related women of his blood who flocked about him, raising him without his absent father, only would be able to manage the little Lord’s affairs until he came of age. Which leant the likes of Eressild an assumed voice in matters which might else have long since forsaken her. Somebody had to step up, after all. Emeredir’s mother, the aggrieved Lady Sirdis was still scarce capable of standing in any room where her husband’s loss at sea might be mentioned.


“Good Sir,” Ilisys met Abrazimir and meant the appellation wholeheartedly, before turning her unblinking gaze upon his Lord and Father. As her mother’s daughter, it was of course expected that she defer to the elder lady to speak for them. But her eyes, and the decision not to avert them toward the floor, spoke more in the silence she otherwise offered, than any bold words might have managed to proclaim her mood. For the younger knight though, she allowed a smile, sincere in as much as she might share of her opinion. For she did respect the man more than even a relative ought express in polite company. There were so few men in Belfalas who were truly as chivalrous as they were expected to be, when no one was watching. For the sake of the veteran beside him then, for her late father’s comrade and friend, Isys accomplished some other expression of awe. Though it might be not what he would most appreciate, the required attention could not be denied, and enough wonder was amounted to suppose at least a passing interest in what he was saying. Not that she would be presumed to comment on it regardless. Her mother had things well in hand. This was far more Eressild’s arena, than her daughter’s. They had come, primarily, to make clear the younger lady returned to social circles. After that debacle the previous year. Although the elder Lady had designs beyond that, always.

“For sure then I shall soon have cause to enjoy this party ever more so,” Eressild responded to the Lord's question, with all the required anticipation for his wife, the Lady Orelnith,’s arrival.


“And what of yourself, sir ? Do you think to enjoy yourself this eve ?” Isys interjected suddenly. And ignoring the blaze of her mother’s silent disapproval, the daughter tilted her head in intrigue at Abrazimir. “We are under observation,” she added knowingly, leaving almost not enough time for the young man to reply to her question. She had put eyes on a one who already had eyes about her, and upon her comrade in arms in addition. But it would not do to make any manner or approach toward him. Not here. Not now. For certain he was maintaining a distance for some similar cause.

Instead Isys indicated the gathered throng of young Taurhebor gentlemen who were stood without a chaperone close by. The elder of the two was such a likeness for their late father, that the lady was certain of their identity. She had heard about the intended pact that would unite House Dimaethor with the noble lumber enthusiasts upriver. And it was bound to be a subject that her mother, or Abrazi's father would not fail to seize upon.

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie @Rillewen

The Lords Dimaethor, Zâinabên & Abrazimir
Swan Knights of Dol Amroth
An ostentatious party, prior to the War of the Ring, Third Age

Lord Zâinabên quirked an eyebrow at the seeming courteous response of the elder Lady Azrubêl. A man of pride and gravity, he found humility to often be a ploy, or a trademark of the lesser classes, who ought to behave so in the presence of their social betters. And his neighbours across the water of Lond Côl were supposed to be their equal and contemporary in such matters of class and rank. When they acted humble, he could take it no other way than a critique at his own standing. What were they trying to say or imply? That House Dimaethor should be the same, because of their loss of fortune and rank in the preceding centuries? And there was no Lady Dimaethor present at moment to temper his mood. His brow furrowed and knitted, but he gave only an acknowledging grunt to the remark.

The lesser Lord Dimaethor, Abrazimir however found Lady Eresslid’s remark to be rather witty, but he dare not smile when his father was so grim. He responded to Ilisys’ greeting with a short nod and a flick of his eyes to their parents. With an imploring look…help me escape from this.

Lady Eresslid made the appropriate excuses for the young Lord Azrubêl. Rather too young. ”On the contrary, my Lady.” Lord Zâinabên retorted at the proffered excuse. ”Impressionable, you say. Yet what other crowd is more deserving to impress upon the young Lord than this gathering of warriors and Lords? He should be here, to meet his contemporaries and his colleagues, to become as one with them. For we shall all be put to the test soon enough, if you have not heard the…the news that comes now out of the East.” He leaned forward to Lady Eresslid, to speak in a softer, more conspiratorial tone. ”Soon there may not be any of such left to impress upon him the gravity and importance of his position.” Yes, because only men could invigorate other men right? Lord Zâinabên leaned back and gave an affirming nod, like the unasked-for correction could not be questioned or challenged. The Dimaethor patriarch was a stern traditionalist, above all things. It should be evident by how little attention he gave the lesser Lady Azrubêl, Ilisys, whom he thought played a dangerous game in going against the societal expectations of her gender.

”Perhaps, Lady Eresslid, you should permit the young Lord to visit his neighbours across the water, where he might have it impressed upon him by his fellow man the seriousness and import of his position. It is good to start young, as is evident with my son, now a fully fledged Swan-Knight.” He said, gesturing to Abrazimir, making a very bold offer to tutor and foster the young and so-called impressionable Lord Azrubêl. And of course bring him under Dimaethor influence. And in doing so, as the young Lord would grow up, and be beholden to his neighbours, in a sense restore Dimaethor governance and direction to both sides of Lond Côl.

Abrazimir might have rolled his eyes. They had scarcely been here a quarter hour and his father was already politicking.

Both men’s eyes however shot to the younger Lady Azrubêl when she spoke up. ”Enjoy?” Lord Zâinabên repeated, as if such a thing was anathema to him. What a dastardly suggestion! No, they were here to work and secure their future, and the future of their Realm and peoples. Like she ought to be doing, by behaving more like a Lady and not some rambunctious… whatever. We are under observation she quickly commented as well to them, before Abrazimir could offer up a more neutral response. He followed her gaze and spotted the adoring looks in question, from the young Taurhebor clan. Including his younger sister’s betrothed. And a future brother. He did not yet know of the others who were watching her…them.

Abrazimir glanced at the Taurhebors and nodded in their direction. Best leave that sort of talk though to the parents. ”Well, my Lady, I hoped to sample some of the food and drink here. Perhaps you would like to accompany me…?” He said, giving his father a questioning glance, who in turn withheld a tired sigh and glanced away. That was as close as permission he was going to get, through the absence of a countermanding order not to. So he gestured to Isys in invite and they could step away a bit, if she was willing. It should be no scandal. They were colleagues as Swan-Knights. And his father did impress upon him to build alliances and pacts. Who better than a formidable warrior? Never mind that she was a woman. Abrazimir didn’t think like that. She herself was responsible for setting his mind straight all those years ago when she flattened him out during a joust.

But… Success! He could detach away from that dark cloud.

”I apologize for my father. All the dark news and rumors coming out of the east, the south, it is unsettling for him. And others, no doubt.” He began by saying to his kinswoman, when they were a few paces away from their parents and out of ear shot. ”Now I am certain you would not have the need to remark upon a gaggle of your adoring fans.” He commented to Isys, glancing around him fully now. ”Is everything alright? Is anything amiss?” He inquired of her.

As for Lady Eresslid, she would not be left long with the stern and humorless Dimaethor patriarch, as the Ladies Dimaethor, Orelnith and Azraindil were making their entrance, dressed in magnificent gowns and intricate braided hair and pearl necklaces and ear-rings. Lady Orelnith would at least add some tact to her husband’s gruff and brash manner of talk and approach. And Lady Azraindil of course only there to be a symbol of Dimaethor purity and beauty, since as both woman and the youngest her opinion was hardly ever factored into her parent’s dealings and decision-making. She too was well aware of a certain someone, who would be immensely important in her coming adult life, and shared an immense knot of anxiety in her gut at the prospect of a meeting. For he was a stranger to her, as she was to him. And that seemed the nature of arranged pacts between noble families.

Her dismay only grew however when she and her mother found her father, alone with Lady Eresslid, and no sight of her brother with whom she could at least find familiarity and comfort with in this backdrop of strangers. ”Mellon nin, mae govannen!” The Lady Orelnith greeted her friend in fluent sindarin, Lady Eresslid, giving her a modest hug with kisses upon each cheek. Azraindil waited until she was acknowledged before she dipped with a proper curtsey before the other woman. ”My Lady.” She just said quietly and meekly, feeling immensely shy. Please don’t let me be stuck with the parents, please, please, please…

"I am pleased to see you and my husband in sophisticated talk," Lady Orelnith jested, "instead of my Lord Husband surrounded by a crowd of knights, brandishing their swords and ready to go off to fight the wars of Denethor."

"That comes later." Lord Zâinabên remarked drily, though it was as close to humor as he would come.

"And how are you?" Lady Orelnith inquired of Lady Eresslid, an actual human question.

[Rillewen]

@Ercassie and @Lantaelen

Ademar Androllius, being an imposter (As usual)
With "Lord Hollin Menelzir II"
An ostentatious party, in Dol Amroth
Sometime before the War of the Ring, TA

"Oh yes, of course, my deepest apologies, Lord Menelzir," Ademar responded, with a smile that wanted to become a smirk. That wasn't the man's real name, and they both knew it. "Yes, that's right, you weren't here when I was announced. It's Ansellidus," He gave the phony name of his own, with a formal bow of his own. "Lord Amardir Ansellidus, I should say." He added smoothly, without the least bit of trip over the coincidentally similar name to his real one. "The late Lord Alagion Ansellidus, of the estate known as Taras Felyanga, was my great uncle." In fact, the only part of that which was true was the fact that his great uncle's name was, indeed, Alagion. But he had bourn the name Androllius, not Ansellidus. A matter which had been a source of some confusion in both Alagion's youth. According to the family history which Ademar's father would prefer no one remembered, the Androllius one had taken advantage of that confusion to the utmost. According to the tales, Mar's uncle had conned many folks into believing him to be the one and only Lord Alagion Ansellidus, and had thus brought much shame to the family when he was eventually found out. Apparently, it had inspired Adonerius to join the Gondorian Army, and later the guards, in an effort to correct the reputation that might have become associated with their family name, and to atone for the misdeeds of his uncle.

That very tale had inspired Ademar in a different way; to seek out the same Noble family whom his ancestor had once taken advantage of, and find a way to scam his own way into it. Only in his case, he wouldn't just be posing as the heir, he would become the heir. Having excellent forgery skills certainly helped matters in that regard. It was best not to ask where he came by the means to offer whatever bribes and payoffs were necessary among the staff of Taras Felyanga. It had taken a few careful inquiries, but he soon gained much favor with certain servants who knew exactly what information would make it possible to convince the aging, nearly blind, Lord Alagion that Mar was, indeed, the son of his nephew (and sole heir) whom all believed had perished in an ambush along the road many years ago as an infant. By happy coincidence, that heir had been born the same year as Mar, and had a very conveniently similar name. The elderly lord had enjoyed only a few months with his long lost kin before old age finally caught up to him, but he had died happily, knowing that the family name would carry on after his passing.

To the latter remark by Arkadhur, Ademar gave a small laugh. "Oh, on the contrary, I know exactly what you mean." He replied with a subtle side glance toward the young lady conversing with Lord Estennin, then smiled pleasantly to the other impostor. "But I am sure those praises must be well-deserved, Menelzir," He added, taking a moment to study the nearby Astronomer as he stopped short of kissing Alyssa's hand. "You must indeed be very profitable with your.. work." He added, turning back to Arkadhur with an eyebrow raised in question. He had been rather surprised to see the Umbarian here, but noticing the way he hinted and seemed to be keeping an eye on Lord Estennin, Mar could make a guess at why he was present. It brought forth the question though; was he working for himself, or for Halsad? Whatever the case, it might be good for him to see that Pharak had eyes and ears even among the nobility, now.

Lady Alyssa with Lord Heledir Estennin

A faint smile was offered as Lord Estennin responded to her. A sympathetic, sad sort of smile. It was difficult, being here at all, for her. It troubled her, knowing what she knew about Ademar, and yet she could say nothing to the people around her. She spared a brief glance in his direction, struggling not to frown at him. He was at it again, spreading lies and deception, pretending to be something he's not, and all to further some evil plot of his, though she didn't know the details. Whatever he was planning, she had no doubt it ought to be stopped, yet she was powerless to do so. What could she possibly do to stop him? Despair clutched at her heart, threatening to suffocate her.

Lord Estennin's words, his tone changing suddenly, drew her thoughts out of that dark place. Alyssa blinked at the man, and drew in a slow breath. "Hope is indeed a fragile thing." She offered, softly. "It ought to be tended, and nurtured, as a seedling poking up through the earth in spring." She clung to a memory of her mother growing herbs and flowers. "Do not lose that hope," She added, though whether she was directing that statement toward him, or herself, she wasn't even sure. "You must believe. In her, if nothing else." She murmured softly, thinking now of her sister. "So long as she lives, there is hope." She paused, remembering she was not alone, and that she was speaking out loud. She glanced up at him. "I apologize, I did not mean to upset you..." She worried that perhaps she had done just that, and felt regret for having spoken so much. A slightly worried glance back at her new husband showed that he had cast his glance in her direction, and she fell silent, unsure whether she ought not to have spoken at all.

Aearonor & Anurion Taurhebor
Approaching Isys and Abrazimir

The brothers stood for a moment, together, caught up in some conversation of their own while taking a more leisurely look around the assembled guests. The announced arrival of the Dimaethor ladies made Aearon look a bit uncomfortable, and he was careful not to look in their direction. He had been nervous enough at the thought of possibly having to endure the company of her father. Now, he wondered if anyone would expect him to go and greet her. What would he say?

Anurion watched his brother, wondering what was going on in his head. He knew his brother pretty well, but at times like this, he could be hard to decipher. Was he thinking about slipping away from this event, so not to have to see his future bride? Despite what his mother liked to think about him, Aearonor was not always the model of responsibility, and in fact, had often spoken about the idea of just running off to live in the woods someday, to get away from all of this stuff that was expected of him, and had promised he would take Anurion along if he did. Maybe they'd become rangers or something, and live far more thrilling lives than the ones their mother had laid out for them each. Anurion knew sides to his big brother which his mother obstinately refused to acknowledge, due to his willingness to please her and do as she said. "How long are we waiting?" He asked softly.

"I think we might go over in a moment," Aeaeron answered softly. "I thought it best that we not rush over there immediately." He pointed out with a small shrug.

"I wonder if she'll be in the next tournament," Anurion whispered, eager to go over and speak to the lady knight, now that his brother had proposed that such a thing could be done.

Aearon laughed lightly. "Are you hoping to go up against her?" He asked, since there had been some talk about Anurion participating in the next one, though he was not yet fifteen.

"No way!" Anurion replied, wide-eyed at the possibility of him facing a warrior of such skill and experience. "But I do hope she'll go against..him." He grinned. "I want to see her unhorse him. Again." He meant Torthon, of course, their stepfather. Neither brother were particularly fond of him, and it was always thrilling to see him defeated in a joust, despite the fact he was representing their own house. There was just something thrilling about seeing the man sprawled on the dirt, and anyone who accomplished such a feat was sure to gain quick favor with either of his stepsons. Especially if that someone were a woman.

Grinning, Aearon shook his head in amusement and started toward the lady in question and her companion, keeping a leisurely pace. He had noticed the lady knight and his future brother-in-law moving away from the older folks at last, and thought he might make use of that. He had always found Abrazimir to be less intimidating than his father... he might even consider him to be friendly, though he didn't know the man all that well.

The two teenagers stopped a respectable distance from where Abrazimir and Ilisys were conversing, Aearon making a quick motion to shush Anurion, who might otherwise have eagerly blurted out a greeting to the lady knight as soon as he was within range. To interrupt their elders would be quite rude, and their mother's wrath would be duly invoked if she learned of such a thing. "Well met, Sir Abrazimir," Aearonor greeted the brother of his betrothed first, when there was a suitable opportunity. "Lady Ilisys, I hope you are faring well this evening?" He added, with a small bow to her. "I don't recall whether either of you have met my younger brother, Anurion? He wished to give his regards." He explained, leaving it vague as to whom exactly Anurion wanted to give regards to, so as not to single one out in favor of the other.

The younger brother, meanwhile, was struggling not to grin too big as he bowed to the lady. It didn't take much perception to guess that this might just be the highlight of the entire month for Anurion. "I greatly missed seeing you compete in the last tournament, Lady Ilisys. Will you be competing in the next one?" He asked with great hope in eyes blue as steel, eager to hear an affirmative that his hero would not miss another jousting tournament. Receiving a light elbow to the ribs, he looked at his elder brother questioningly, before realizing maybe he hadn't been as polite as he ought to. "And you were excellent in the last one, sir." He added to Abrazimir, gaining a tint of pink to his face as he realized he might have been a bit remiss in recognizing the other knight's skills as well.

[Dungeon Delver]

The Mercenary, the Lady, and the Hermit
Along a Nameless Road in Pinnath Gelin

The Mercenary pulled her cloak tighter about her frame. The morning rain was cold, nearly unbearably so, but she could show no sign of weakness, not in this cavalcade of individuals. Her breath fogged in the air, a silvery plume that, to her vision, shaped itself into a knife before evaporating. Her jaw hurt; it always hurt in the cold, but it been exacerbated by the grinding of her teeth in her sleep. Five days of this now. Five days of rain, fog, cold, and pain. Six days ago, she had been riding through a different world entirely, blissfully unaware of the hell into which she was trotting. She envied her naivety. She had been through the wars, she could handle anything, or so she believed. Mercenary work, killing, hunting, and fighting, was easy compared to escort work. There were rules she could follow, comfortable patterns of scaling predictability. A ruffian behaved liked a ruffian behaved like a ruffian. A poacher was a poacher and acted in all the ways a poacher acts. Lordlings though? They were something wholly and unholy different. Each day along this road had brought challenges that the Mercenary had not expected and each day she felt herself unequal to the task of not killing her charge. She rode a little behind the Mercenary now, blessedly quiet. She’d complained all through breakfast about the cold and the wet. ‘This dismal weather is just unacceptable, the almanacs said nothing about the misery I am enduring’ The Mercenary wanted to throttle her. Almanacs and premonitions, they were as useless as the lordlings that swore by them. The Mercenary would rather swear at them. She didn’t though, she held her tongue in the presence of the Lady, instead explaining that the hills of Pinnath Gelin could be unpredictable this time of year, that the Lady herself had chosen this path and that they were already too deep in to turn back now or find another root. That might have worked if not for the Hermit. The Mercenary would have liked very much to stick a knife in the ragged woman that had been with them the last five days. She stank and she stared. She was, also, so full of ideas of pathways and tracks they might take to lessen the time on the road. Despite the Mercenary’s best, most fervent warnings, the Lady had obliged the Hermit on more than one occasion. At the beginning of this trip, they rode along the King’s Road, well demarcated and populated. Now? There was no telling what this road was, or where it would end up. They had not seen anything in days. Five days. No people, no animals, no signs of life whatsoever. Oh, the Hermit always managed to find food, a pheasant or two, some trout, even a brace of rabbits, but she decisively refused to tell where she’d found this food. They should have been staying at inns and taverns along the road until they made it to Minas Tirith. The Hermit, whoever she was, was leading them away from every marker of civilization. Aside from the road itself, there were no signs of human, elven, dwarven, or even orcish habitation, no structures, no ruins, no mark but what nature saw fit to carve. The Mercenary rubbed the scar on her cheek. It was the reason her jaw aways hurt. On cold days like this, it was still tender to the touch. She winced. She was still alive. Everything around her might as well be dead. They moved like grey shadows in the lee of a great, green hill. The thing loomed up out of the fog and stared down at them with unknowable intent. There was no sound but the soft patter of the rain and the gentle clop of horse hooves. The Hermit made no sound at all, another thing that made the Mercenary incredibly agitated. Things that made no sound when they moved were trouble. She wasn’t an elf unless an elf had gone through a long period of vivisepulture. She stank, but the Lady seemed to pay it no mind. Indeed, she had not even so much as wrinkled her nose at the Hermit. She’d done quite a lot more than that when she and the Mercenary had met. The Lady grilled her for over an hour upon their first meeting to test her resolve and her knowledge of the area. Would she keep the Lady safe? Would she keep the Lady fed? Would she get lost in the winding hills? Would she join in with ruffians and highwaymen? And on and on and on. She shivered involuntarily. It was cold and getting colder. This rain should have let up by now. The sun should have appeared, even veiled and quiet, and warmed them. The Mercenary watched the sky, watched the hill as they rounded up the side. There was something out here, something wrong. The Mercenary shivered once more and inhaled the knife sharp air. She would be ready when it came. She would be ready.

The Lady found the cold insufferable. It was not winter or late fall; the weather had no business being so drab and miserable. She was going to Minas Tirith, a city famed for its color and all she’d seen so far on her journey was grey, grey, and grey. She was disappointed, and not mildly so. This trip was not going well. Not at all. First her bodyguard, a grumbling amalgamation of lupine wit and black temper, refused to make her breakfast in the morning (something not in the contract because the Lady assumed it went without saying that the servant made the food for the higher class), then she decided that the pace they were moving at was too slow. Poor Snowlight! It was no wonder he bolted when he did. Poor tired darling. The Lady, too, would have jumped and run had she seen the snake he did. They’d been riding for so long and the Lady herself was so sore that merely sliding off Snowlight’s back was a chore. Moments later the equine bolted, and pandemonium erupted. The Lady was knocked sideways onto the earth, likely narrowly missing being crushed by her favorite horse. The Mercenary galloped after Snowlight, she was rude, but she was not incompetent. However, it was the Hermit that brought Snowlight back. A chance companion to be sure, but, as the Lady discovered, a fortuitous one. The Hermit refused to give her name, instead she said something vaguely gothic and poetic about ‘being naught but a singular wandering crow.’ And yet, here she was, a travelling companion. She had her own reasons for travelling the forgotten byways of the Anfalas, to be sure, but whatever those reasons were, the Lady was quite glad of the company. The Mercenary was good (and privately the Lady would have admitted she was quite a spectacle to look at as well) but she was surly and acerbic. She didn’t like the Hermit. The Hermit didn’t like the Mercenary. Somehow, though, neither of them left the party. The Lady assumed, no, the Lady knew she’d drawn them to her, the way the moon orbited the earth. She rather liked that, the way she liked the attention (and jealousies) of these women. What was going to happen once they all reached Minas Tirith? There was nothing keeping them together then, the contract with the Mercenary would be up, and for all she knew the Hermit would be breaking from the party long before the sight of the ivory walls would bring tears to the Lady’s eyes. She would think of something though. She was as clever as she was wealthy, much more so than the previous generations of her family or her younger siblings. It was, however, nigh impossible to think at all in this blasted cold. The rain had not stopped in five days. Five days. Morning, evening, and night, the sky barely showed a glimmer of light beyond the perfunctory difference between night and day. The sun refused to show herself, prima donna that she was. Clouds covered everything from horizon to horizon. Grey. The entire world was grey and cold. The Lady wrapped her cloak tighter about her but it only seemed to accentuate how frigid this place was. The Mercenary ahead of her looked miserable, though she never turned around to look at her companions. Her shoulders were humped and her back was slumped. She was a tall, muscular, and imposing woman (part of the reason why the Lady was so enraptured) but today she looked positively mundane. The Lady could only guess at how she looked, most likely like some wretch stray animal with wide rheumy eyes and a sad mouth. She looked at the Hermit, who was making this entire journey on foot. It was hard to tell what the woman was thinking, her eyes were so distant so much of the time, scanning the horizon for things only she understood. What was it about her that excited the Lady so much? She had an earthy, peaty scent about her, her hair was wild and unkempt beneath her voluminous hood. Her eyes were an unsettling shade of dark purple. Not that the Mercenary’s yellow tinged eyes were any more comforting. When she spoke, her voice held an edge, a tired wisdom of the world around her. Was she an elf? Oh the Lady hoped not, elves, as fair and wonderful as they were, were so aloof as to hardly notice the world turning around them, everyone but they themselves might as well be beetles shoveling balls of shi(t). Her breath foggy, she could barely feel her fingers as they wrapped around Snowlight’s reins. Ahead, the Mercenary slowed half a pace. What was up ahead?

The Hermit loved the cold. She found invigorating. The world was quiet when it was cold, all the world stayed indoors, or within their caves and hollowed trees. When it was cold, the only thing that stalked the grey-green hills was her. She liked it that way. She was a creature of solitude. Yet, here she was now. What was she doing here? Everyday for years without count she’d watched people go by on roads and goat-tracks and hidden pathways without so much as a glimpse of her, yet here she was. Not only was she within sight of these people, but she was interacting and speaking with them! There was something animalistic about them, the Lady and the Mercenary. Each had their draws. She didn’t much care for the lupine eyes of the Mercenary, they seemed to look far too deep into the Hermit’s soul for her comfort. Her scent was spicy and atavistic, like she might howl and attack at any given moment, her muscles seemed to be perpetually taut. The Lady, too, was no less feral and wild, even if she kept her nature under the guise of civility and propriety. She was eager to learn, and the Hermit was more than willing to share (much to her own surprise). She showed them tracks and paths that she and the animals alone knew. It took them through difficult terrain more often than naught, but brambles and steep hill faces were preferable to the artificial lights and sounds of civilization. The Hermit had left that sort of thing behind long ago and had no wish to re-enter. She took them away from inns and taverns where the eyes would have been hungrier and more savage. The Mercenary did not like it, but the Mercenary was just going to have to take it in stride. The Hermit knew these lands. She knew the place in her bones. How long had she lived without society? It was hard to tell, a hundred years or a hundred days, it was impossible to tell. Everything blended together out here. When the Mercenary told stories about the war their first night all together around the fire, the Hermit was shocked. There had been a war? Vaguely, she recalled the sound of trumpets and hooves, but when had that been? She had been musing too long. There was something wrong. Both the Mercenary and the Lady seemed to sense it, though neither could have guessed what it was. Even the Hermit could not be sure. Another person? Out here? No, that was impossible. There shouldn’t be another living soul in these hills. She’d made sure of that. There was a tree ahead of them, materializing out of the ever-present gloom, pine by the smell. The shape of the tree though, the Hermit paused. Her legs were tired but all of the sudden they felt leaden. The tree looked dead or something like it. Could a tree be undead? That was a rather uncomfortable thought. Something was hanging from the tree’s branches though, something swayed in the cold breeze. The sound of rain against needles was muted by the sound of rain on a body. The tree’s trunk was awash in carved symbols, some drawn with precision, care, and intent, others drawn so violently and haphazardly that the bark was utterly stripped away. There was something amiss. The Hermit smelled the air, but there was no definte answer there. Though her senses were sharp, they were not sharp enough to cut through the muddle here. That made the hackles in the back of her neck rise.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Linhir - visiting her parents with Thûllir
Summer's end
(Private)

It had been too long since she had made the trip down to Linhir to see her mother and father. When she had broached the subject with Thûllir, he had given her one of his looks. One of those she referred to as the slow burns. And then he had given her that minute shrug, followed by the casual yet serious suggestion that they could travel soon enough if she wished. He had all but planned the trip in a matter of moments. In that calm and collected manner of his. As if it were the most obvious response in the world.

Any boat ride with Thûllir down to Linhir would remind her of the very first one. The one where he had asked her to marry him back in Minas Tirith, and she had refused to answer him until he had at least met her parents. This voyage was no exception, and they had both enjoyed the trip, jesting with and poking fun at each other - with perhaps Kaylin doing a bit more of those things to Thûllir than the other way around. Maybe. Even though they were on a ship, it felt like a private trip. No one familiar was around. It was just the two of them on the move. The mood was relaxed. There was little else to do but focus on each other, and so they did.

The arrival had been no different. Kaylin had insisted on an inn, this time, rather than staying over at her parents' house. While Mira and Bracken would have loved to host, Kaylin had gently steered her parents away from the task. Thûllir had deferred to her. It was unclear to Kaylin what he thought of it himself, other than that he understood her wish. But she could not imagine he felt badly about it. Going by the first night in Linhir, the inn had been... a good choice.

By now, they had spent several days in the city and Kaylin felt like she had hardly been away at all. All the little streets and corners in the area were familiar to her, for the inn she had chosen was not all that far removed from her parents' house. Her folks had warmed up to Thûllir completely years ago now, and they treated him as their own. The time spent among the four of them had been easy. Bracken and Mira were on cloud nine with their sudden visit, and it showed. They were going out of their way to welcome them into their city and their home. They insisted on sharing breakfast and dinner with them on most days.

They had just left Kaylin's parents' house about half an hour ago, after one of these breakfasts. "I swear, I think my mother is trying to make up for lost time by stuffing me to the brim with food," Kaylin commented, but her tone did not give off the impression that she minded. "I might have to start running on vacation," she grinned. "So I don't return to Minas Tirith as a much rounder version of myself."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Linhir - visiting with Kaylin
Summer’s End
(Private)

Anniversaries were meant to be marked, and so Thûllir had been quick to acquiesce to Kaylin’s suggestion of visiting Linhir as Summer drew to a close and Autumn began to hint among the leaves. They had visited a few times over the years, but never for very long, as it was rare that their disparate schedules were able to align long enough for extended leave. There were some advantages to being in the same unit now, as they could sync their schedules a little easier. It hadn’t taken long at all to draw up plans and get permission for some time away, giving notice of their planned travels.

The days of travel had helped start the process of relaxation and laying aside the cares and worries of work as they took joy in each other and in their surroundings of green lands and first the swift flowing river and then the deep briny sea. He teased her back gently when she jested loudly, appreciating the flashing life that shone so brightly in her, and not minding overmuch when the sailors joined in.
Their arrival in Linhir brought the welcome of her parent’s home and sharing stories around the table or as they walked the streets of the market together. Kaylin was one who formed friendships easily in many places, but it was good to see her here in the city of her childhood, becoming reacquainted with the streets and friends here once again. It was good to have their own space here as well in the comfortable inn that allowed them to not keep to the schedules of other’s lives, even though they frequently met with her parents for meals.

Thûllir felt rested and peaceful contentment as they returned to the inn in a roundabout fashion, having decided to wander a while after such a delightful meal, and was amused at Kaylin’s words. “I don’t think you will need to resort to running unless you choose to, Kaylin.” His tone carried wry amusement as he looked over at her with laughter dancing in his eyes that looked a bit more blue than grey today.

His gaze was drawn away from her and a slight frown of concern appeared on his brow as a young boy called out and dashed up to them. He wore a light tabard bearing the symbol of a wing over that of the inn they were staying at, and Thûllir remembered seeing him among those who ran messages for the innkeeper. It was obvious the boy had been searching for them, and he was given the gift of silence as he took a beat to catch his breath before words tumbled forth. “Word came to the inn for you m’lord and m’lady!” The boy drew himself up and took on the air of recitation. “You are both requested to proceed to the barracks of the city guard at your earliest convenience, to give aid in a matter of utmost importance, as you are Rangers of the King.” As he fell silent, Thûllir could see the spark of curiosity at the message, even though the boy was professional enough to not speak it out loud. Were they really Rangers? He nodded solemnly at the messenger and dug out a coin to give him in exchange. “Thank you for finding us quickly. We are indeed Rangers.”

He wanted to sigh at that, but gave the boy a smile instead as the lad flashed a wide grin before knuckling his forehead and dashing back toward the inn. His eyes were more troubled now when he looked back at Kaylin. “I hope this doesn’t mean our vacation is over, but it might be. We should go find out what this is about.” She would need to lead, as they had gotten into an area of town that he was a bit less familiar with, even though he knew the main routes to the barracks, having gone there with Bracken on previous trips.

Indeed, trouble had found them, although it only came to them as they were the first Rangers the guards knew to reach, as Bracken was one of their number. Word would need to be sent to the great city of Minas Tirith, but a messenger with ill tidings had reached the city on the flow of the Gilrain, battered and weary, and bearing a tale of danger and ill fortune. Of banditry and theft, and death to many in a broken caravan. Similar stories had come before, but this time it was not only merchants who had been overthrown, but a train of supplies headed for the southern beacons had also disappeared, with signs of a struggle and torn tabards found where the trail had led north.

When Thûllir and Kaylin reached the barracks, they were ushered into the mess hall, where the Captain sat interviewing a battered and weary man who nonetheless had a familiar air. There was a repast spread that he was making quick work of, which likely meant both that he had given his initial report, and that he was hungry after days with little to eat. He knew the signs well. Thûllir nodded in salute to the Officer and representative of Linhir’s Lord before his eyes were drawn back to the man drinking from a tall mug as if parched. Could it be…Lothar? Thûllir glanced at his wife with slight uncertainty before his gaze fixed on the scene once more. He didn’t know the man as well as she did. “Rangers Thûllir and Kaylin present as requested sirs.” His tone displayed only a light curiosity. The officer stood and thanked them politely despite the deep frown of concern on his own features, ushering them to join the small gathering. “Thank you for coming, both of you. This man has troubling news, and I think we have need of the Rangers, whether you go as messengers and summon aid or go yourselves. My authority does not extend as far as the springs of the Gilrain, despite our position at the mouth of that fair lady. You are not bound to it, but please come and hear his tale and give your advice on the matter.” Thûllir found himself walking forward and finding a seat despite the misgivings of his heart, looking back at Kaylin with a gesture to join him. They could not turn away a call for aid.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Kaylin | Lothar
Linhir - Summer's end
(Private)

Kaylin did like it when Thûllir's eyes looked more blue than grey. Not because she appreciated the color more, but because it spoke of his overal mood. As she'd been looking at him rather than the street, Kaylin noted her husband's frown before she spotted the boy who was dashing toward them. Word had come to the inn for them? Why on earth would that be? Had something happened to her parents? But when the city guard barracks came into play, she suspected the reason for their summons could not be related to them. Her father was a part of the city guard, yes, but he had been at home when they'd left her parents' house half an hour ago. There was no way he could have anything to do with this.

As opposed to Thûllir's solemn response, Kaylin held back an eyeroll. 'A matter of utmost important, as they were Rangers of the King.' Yeah, okay. They were many miles from home, and from work. They were on leave, besides. Whatever would require their attention here in Linhir? Crossing her arms in defiance of being called in while they were vacationing, she looked after the boy with a look she hadn't needed to adopt once since they had left Minas Tirith. She felt Thûllir turning toward her before she looked over to see the troubled look in his eyes. An annoyed sigh escaped her when he said their vacation might be over. "We'll see about that," she said sullenly, refusing to entertain such a thought as of yet. "This better be my father pulling a prank on us." Recalcitrantly, she started them on their way.

Upon their arrival, Kaylin's hopes of a prank quickly fell. It could still be a very elaborate one, but... more likely it truly was official business. She held back a scowl as a couple of guards led them to the mess hall. Once she entered and her eyes fell on the men they were being led toward, the half-scowl was wiped off her face to make room for a nearly blank expression, that only hinted at the true feelings of surprise and disbelief beneath the surface. Lothar!? Seeing him here was so entirely unexpected, it froze her momentarily. Luckily Thûllir was doing the talking to the guard Captain. While the officer answered, the man's words registered so she could pick out the ones that mattered (or so she thought), but her mind was mostly elsewhere as she stared at Lothar. The man's green eyes had slowly lifted from his food upon hearing their names, and were now looking back at her with his typically sullen gaze.

There was no mistaking it: there was a man she had soldiered with for years before King Elessar had disbanded the army. While they had never had a cordial or warm friendship, Kaylin had still gotten the sense that there had been mutual respect and that Lothar, who didn't really warm up to anyone and seemed to make it a point not to make friends, had still appreciated her presence somehow. He had shown up at the wedding, after all. And he had walked with her through the first circles of the city, when her pregnancy had gone south - before Thûllir could reach her and get her the rest of the way to Nestaid.

Thûllir moved away from her, leaving an emptiness at her side, but instead of moving with him, Kaylin found herself rooted to her spot a moment longer. Her blue-grey eyes flicked over to her husband, conveying an apology in advance for breaking the expected protocols, before returning to her former comrade-in-arms.

"This is where you have been hiding?" she chided, instead of offering Lothar a normal or even half-way decent greeting. "What, Minas Tirith's city guard wasn't good enough for you?" Kaylin had not liked his silent disappearance.

Lothar gave her a light shrug, his eyes moving from Kaylin to Thûllir and back a few times. "Can't all be invited to the King's Rangers," his voice grated quietly. "But no. Neither the guard at Minas Tirith nor at Linhir would have me." He delivered the statement matter-of-factly, and there was not so much as a trace of an edge to his tone to make the Captain present uncomfortable or annoyed. "So I became a caravan guard."

To Kaylin, the man seemed very... detached. Even more so than she had always known him to be. She approached him, casting a pointed look at his bruised and chafed knuckles. "Caravan guards don't feel like they need hand protection anymore?"

He shrugged, not moving to her approach in any other way. Most trips were boring, his presence more of a comfort to the traders and travelers than a necessity. Besides. These days, getting hurt was just about the only way he felt something. "Guess not."

"Fine," Kaylin snapped. This was not how she would have wanted or expected a reunion to be like. She turned back around, claiming a seat beside Thûllir now - as had been expected of her from the start. "Talk," she said, her tone almost mocking. Lothar had always been monosyllabic rather than talkative. Delivering a more lengthy report yet again would not be to his liking. At all. And Kaylin felt like he deserved some form of punishment.

Lothar's green eyes rested on Kaylin's face for a moment, now with a hint of amusement. This only lasted briefly before the gleam was lost, however. "The attack came at night. Their numbers - around.. fifteen to twenty." He took a quick gulp from the tankard in front of him. "Too many for us. Their aim - to steal. With everyone either dead, wounded or having surrendered, they took everything except the clothes on our back." He paused, tired of talking, glancing at the Captain of the guard. Why could he not relay the necessary information? He'd just told the man everything, in a lengthier fashion. "A resupply group for the beacon was supposed to come through that way, so we headed there. But after encountering signs of a struggle, I came downriver. Figured this was important enough to get to the King."

Kaylin sighed mentally. Yeah. Business it was. She turned to the Captain, not needing much time before her first response was ready. "And you are saying that the Lord of Linhir is uninterested in sparing a group of his guards to investigate and stop these robbers? Or has King Elessar forbidden his interference beyond the borders of his own lands? Does the area fall under some other Lord or Lady who needs to be made aware?" She'd never been the best at studying which family lorded over what area.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Linhir - visiting with Kaylin
Summer’s End
(Private)

“Not disinterested, Maethyr. Merely that they are not skilled in the mountains and hills, besides my authority not reaching that far. I may well send them, but they have learned to follow sign in the city, not track in the grasses, woods, and mountains far from these walls. I would either be sending them to be lost or to die. I am willing to send them in aid, but not alone. They are trained for city combat, patrolling, and siegework in the harbor and from the walls, not Ranger work. This…following bandits into the hills is not city work, and it involves some of the King’s own who have been sent as sentinels.” The captain sighed as he looked at the fiery red-head. “The Lords in this area are small lordlings who maintain only household troops and militias in their fields and hamlets. They have decreased their household troops since the coming of peace, and there are no great lords here with armies to patrol. The Prince and the King are equally distant, and Pelargir…well, Pelargir is only concerned with their own defence and the trade that comes into their port.” He shrugged. “I called for you two since your father, Bracken, let it be known of your service in the Rangers and had mentioned your presence in the city. Would you be willing to go send word to the King that he will listen to, or perhaps lead my men so they at least won’t be lost or surprised? I can’t spare many, but some may be willing to brave it.”

Thûllir nodded slowly in response as he gave thought to the problem, although he was sure Kaylin’s questions were not done. There was the surprise of seeing Lothar again, as well as the tragic tale, and the affront of bandits daring to attack merchants and Ranger watchmen alike. It was not good. A chill filled his chest at the thought of the many captured and slain, and the journey Lothar had taken to bring word. His hopes for a long and relaxing vacation had faded quickly at the sight of the veteran soldier, and then confirmed by each word from his mouth, both as he answered Kaylin’s initial questions and then when he gave such a dire report. Thûllir glanced over at Kaylin and then back at the Captain. They would just need to take the rest of their leave later.

He spoke quietly but calmly. “Word should be sent to the King, yes, but any messenger may do if we add our word to our Lieutenant. I am not familiar with your mountains here as I am in Ithilien, but I am a trained scout, and know how to track and use stealth as needed. I would be willing to go search for you before the trail gets any colder, and then lead any force that is sent to deal with what is found if I can make it back to safety.” He would only offer up his own services for now, although he doubted Kaylin would let him go alone. Her skills were glorious in battle, but they had not worked in the woods together in truth in quite some time.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Kaylin | Lothar
Linhir - Summer's end
(Private)

She groaned when the Captain noted that his people were not at all trained to operate in the mountains and hills. She understood that much from her own personal experience. It was true that sending soldiers who did not know how to navigate or survive out there, would be a fool's errand. Kaylin had been the same, once upon a time. No longer, but it was not as if she did not remember those days well. She had embarrassingly forgotten about the importance of that non-detail, in her gut reaction to look for different solutions than the Captain turning to them. When the officer mentioned her father, part of her mind noted dimly that the Captain's rather calm response might be thanks to his experience with Bracken. The Captain would have figured out how to deal with her father's temperament long ago, and this simple interaction with her now would surely have told him her temperament was in alignment.

Kaylin sighed. Being well connected was not always an upside. Finding a rare moment of wisdom, she kept her mouth shut - for now. Allowing time for Thûllir to respond.

When he did, Kaylin frowned at a few things. Right. Pele was away on vacation, so word would be sent to Arnyn instead. That shouldn't be a problem though. The Lieutenant had a way of sinking her teeth into things. She would take the to King Elessar without delay, Kaylin was sure of it.
Any messenger may do, her husband said, and Kaylin nodded in thought. That was probably true. The Captain could send someone for that, right? Surely they had messengers here who could be trusted and were suitable for long distance reporting...

The way Thûlir continued, though, made her brow knit more closely together as she turned her face toward him. I am not familiar - I am a trained scout - I would be willing to search - if I can make it back. What was that about, huh? And, wait, what? IF I can make it back to safety? Frustration at his repeated use of the singular pronoun (as if he did not want to include her, as if he did not see her working with him on this, as if she were incapable?) mixed with distress at his last few words.

Having finished his meal, Lothar almost chuckled. He held most of it in, but a single monosyllabic sound did claw its way out of his throat, making Kaylin's frown turn upon him once more.
"Fifteen to twenty of them, and every was dead, wounded or surrendered," Kaylin repeated, her tone measured. "You're obviously not dead. So what category do you fit into?" He had made it all the way to Linhir. He looked in decent enough shape. Had he simply surrendered? She'd never known him as someone to throw in the towel easily. Not when it came to protecting people. What was left of the soldier she had known?

Lothar curled his left hand around his tankard again, returning Kaylin's gaze steadily. "What's it to you?"

Kaylin bristled. "I don't remember you as a coward," she bit at him.

The green-eyes veteran shrugged. "Because I never was. Nor am. I simply weighed my options. I could take a stand, and die with those who already had. Helping no one. Or I could surrender, live another day. Hopefully long enough to make it here, so word could be sent to Envinyatar. He needs to renew his hold on the area."

He was making sense. Kaylin hated it when she was arguing with people who were making sense. Especially if they were making more sense than she was. While she didn't miss the ironic tilt to Lothar's words when he referenced the King, that was the least that was bothering her really.
"You're hiding your wounds." It was a statement, not a question.

Lothar shrugged his left shoulder noncommittally.

Kaylin's eyes flicked to the Captain, then back to Lothar. She wouldn't get anything else out of her former comrade-in-arms now. He had that look about him. The one determined to shut everyone out.

Her attention returned to the larger issue at hand. And to Thûllir. "There are at least fifteen of them," she said, her voice less loud as she was speaking to him alone, really. "Why do you speak as if you plan to investigate this by yourself? You'd be insane to know their numbers, to have me here, and to still go alone."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Linhir - visiting with Kaylin
Summer’s End
(Private)

Indeed, the furrow between her brows showed her discontent with his offer of only his own service in this matter. But before she could speak, Thûllir heard Lothar’s amused sound and managed not to shake his head in response. He was the one who had likely caused her emotions to heighten, but he could tell as Kaylin’s attention swung to her veteran friend, that the man’s laugh sparked her ire. He braced his hands on his hips as she sparked at Lothar, glancing at the floor and then over to the captain as he listened to their exchange. Her words were harsh even though the question was a valid one, and he grudgingly admired Lothar’s response. His gaze lifted back to the man, and he gave a slight tilt to his head in acknowledgement of his assessment. Thûllir agreed that the King needed to reassert his control. He had not forgotten that it was in a similar area that his cousin’s patrol had been ambushed despite their numbers, and where she was made captive. Secrecy and careful scouting would be crucial before a group, such as the Rangers they had available, would be effective.

Kaylin turned to him then and repeated her comment about the size of the bandit group, along with the accusation that he was not intending to take her along. He gazed back at her seriously for a moment, weighing his words before speaking. He could tell that her temper was still volatile, and didn’t dare mention his fear for her own safety, or that her impetuous nature might not be the greatest asset to such a dangerous scouting mission. She knew he was accustomed to solitary forays, but the accusation of insanity spoke to her emotions.

He breathed out silently before speaking softly and steadily. “I didn’t want to volunteer for you, but am content for you to go with me, if that is your wish. It does sound to be a large group, but my intention with scouting is to avoid any form of confrontation and detection. That is easier done alone.” Thûllir held up his hand to forestall the instant rebuttal he could see building on her face. He had one opportunity to speak coherently. “Escaping detection safely is easier with one than two or more, but it is also true that it is safer to not go alone, as you say. I do trust your abilities far more than any other who might be sent in your stead.” Lothar, for example, despite knowing where the trail started, needed to heal and wasn’t a ranger. Kaylin had spent as much time learning woodcraft from Thûllir as he had spent learning grappling and edged weapons from her in the training arena. Their additional guardian training was also an asset. “As much as a group of guards would be useful in routing the bandits, I believe scouting needs to happen first, and you can’t slip through lines with city guards.” He lifted an eyebrow and turned his hand palm up in invitation. “Not quite what we had planned for our leave, but will you do me the honor of accompanying me on an adventure to the roots of the mountains, sleeping rough and all?”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Kaylin | Lothar
Linhir - Summer's end
(Private)

Thûllir's acknowledgement came unexpectedly. Not that Lothar was looking for any approval or affirmation. All he was looking for, was to get word of this to the right people. At least, in that way, he could still be a soldier of Gondor. For he would always be thus, at heart. This group of bandits, these killers - they were jeapordizing the safety within their own borders. And it needed to stop. All the rest of it, he had no interest in. He had been discarded as a servant of his nation, and he accepted that fate. Even though he didn't have to like it.

Yet he couldn't deny his interest in the exchange between Thûllir and Kaylin. Thûllir had been rather focused on his own part in investigating the area, almost discarding Kaylin, and if there was one thing Lothar remembered about the redhead, it was her fiery temperament. The way Kaylin had spoken to him after Thûllir's words earlier, proved that the words did not sit right with her. Her following question for Thûllir, followed by that assessment the ranger would be insane to go alone when she was right here and could go along, brought a half-smirk to his lips. Lothar glanced down at the table.

Kaylin's attention was fully focused on Thûllir and his reply to her words. That he was 'content for her to go with him, if she wished', placated her annoyance from the start. That his intention was to avoid detection in a first phase, and that this was easier done alone, was of course true - but that did not take away the danger, not the sting of those words in regards to her abilities.

His raised hand was successful in stalling the response that was bubbling up - even though that would not be a courtesy she would extend to simply anyone. He added some of her counterpoints himself, showing he was aware of them at least. She kept her frown, still, although it lightened when he said he trusted her skills more than any other who might be sent. Part of her clamored: 'More than'? So it is not explicit trust. It is quantified, compared to others. He would suffer my presence; if he must. Another part of her tried to ease that back: He said 'far more'. Don't be so touchy. He's used to being a loner on these sort of missions. Don't read too much into it. Yet she still felt and half expected him to find more reasons to go alone. She'd already decided she wasn't going to let him get away with that.

It was a surprise, therefore, when he continued and held out his hand the way he did. Her focused glare turned thoughtful as she assessed the look in his eyes. So... did that mean he actually wanted her to go? He was inviting her, yes? Asking her to do him the honor? It took the wind from her sails as she let out her inheld breath. At the added comment of 'sleeping rough', she rolled her eyes and almost smiled. Smart man.

She put her hand in his, clasping it firmly. As if she was saying: no take-backs. "As if I would want anything else," she said quietly, still a bit of an edge to her tone to show him there was no other option as far as she was concerned. She lowered their hands to rest on Thûllir's thigh and turned her gaze to the Captain. "We'll need to take a look at your armoury." She had brought next to no weapons on this trip. She glanced back at Thûllir. "What do you think, weapons-wise?" she asked him genuinely. "A shield would be too bulky for this, probably. Best for me to go for a shortsword and a shortbow?"

Lothar found himself almost disappointed, albeit at the same time thoroughly impressed with Thûllir's ability to manage his wife. It showed a deep knowledge of how her mind and heart worked. Even though the former soldier was convinced that Thûllir was compromising his own preferences in order to avoid what would otherwise surely be a fight.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Linhir - visiting with Kaylin
Summer’s End
Dark Roots

He saw the change as Kaylin’s anger faded and she rolled her eyes at him before taking his proffered hand and clasping it firmly. His gaze warmed at her words despite the edge they carried, and his fingers curled around hers in turn. A slight smile curved across his lips in response, and he met her gaze clearly to give a brief nod of agreement before she shifted her gaze to the Captain.
Weapons. Yes. “Of course! All that we have available is at your disposal for your travels, both weapons and supplies.” The Captain’s response was quick and earnestly worded, even as Kaylin turned back to Thûllir to ask his opinion of what weaponry would be best for the mission. Thûllir dipped his chin slightly in thought before nodding. “You are right, a regular shield is likely too bulky for good woods work. A shortbow would be useful for any distance work, and your sword of course. But it would be good to bring at least a small buckler if they have one of hardened leather, wood, or metal that suits your style.” A questioning glance towards the Captain was met with an emphatic nod. The guardsman had access to many bucklers of various sizes for streetwork. It was easier to carry the smaller sizes in close quarters and keep the larger shields for riot work or city defense. “We will go and take a look at the equipment available and ready ourselves without delay…but perhaps pen and paper first? We should send word to Minas Tirith, and perhaps since we are close we should at least send a note to our Captain near Dol Amroth to keep her appraised of the situation.”

Freshly trimmed pen and good ink were supplied with parchment on a portable writing desk. After a few moments in thought, Thûllir took up the pen and wrote two short informative missives that were addressed, sealed with the seal of the Captain of Linhir, and delivered over to messengers with instructions to proceed with all due speed to deliver the packets to Lieutenant Arnyn and Captain Pele respectively. They were succinctly worded to inform of their taking up the mission at the Captain's request and containing a request that a squad of Rangers be sent as backup with all due speed. "It will take us a week at the least to travel north and pick up the trail, and similar time for our officers to receive news. We can use today to properly prepare, as it will likely be another week or more of scouting before any force can give us support. We will need to be prepared for anything." He turned to Lothar briefly. “Thank you for bringing the news despite your wounds. I won’t ask you to return with us, but once you are well enough to take ship to Minas Tirith, it would be helpful if you could share your own account with Lieutenant Arnyn so they may find us more easily.” He offered his hand in thanks and farewell before he and Kaylin went to take a look at the armory.

It took them the rest of the morning to select equipment and sufficient supplies from the Quartermaster for several weeks of travel, and the afternoon packing their gear so that it could be carried most efficiently once they had returned to the hotel. The clothes that they had brought for a leisurely vacation also needed to be packed away to be left for their return, and then an early dinner with Kaylin's parents to let them know the change of plans and say farewell. A night of rest in a comfortable bed was welcome, but was still abandoned early the next morning for breakfast and then setting out north before dawn broke clear to light the road before them. They had borrowed mounts to speed their way, as well as a pack horse to hold extra gear for the journey. They could take them at least as far as the road.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Linhir - Summer's end
(Private)

She let Thûllir deal with most of the organizing and supply arrangements, although she picked her own weapons and gear to supplement the only larger weapon she had brought on the trip - one of her shortswords. Lothar, she quite ignored for the rest of their time at the guard barracks. She couldn’t deal with him right now. He was being an ass. All she granted him on their way out, was some side eye.

That afternoon, Kaylin was also the one to pack most of the luggage they would not be needing on their outing north, while Thûllir changed their arrangements with the inn. The unnecessary luggage was left with her parents at dinner, and the last night at the inn was, aside from a few diversions, one with plenty of rest. They would need it.

The next morning, Kaylin donned green and grey leathers, her short sword, a borrowed short bow, quiver, and buckler. She also wore a few of the small knives she’d taken along with her on the trip - just in case. But they were as well hidden as ever. All in all, she felt very light. Even after all this time, she hadn’t quite gotten used to the much lighter equipment Rangers tended to wear. And for a mission like this, plate or mail was hardly an option.

They left early. Much too early for being on vacation. But that had already ended the day before. Kaylin glanced at Thûllir as they rode. They’d be making different memories than expected. But no one would be able to say they’d had a boring vacation, at least. It could make a good story, too, and it was that thought that served the most to keep her worries about safety at bay.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End
(Private Ranger RP intro with Kaylin)

They traveled three days along the road that led north and west into the proper lands of the Prince, or Dor-En-Ernil as it was called in these parts. The road turned away from the flow of the Gilraen to aim more directly towards the scene of the ambush that lay between the out-thrust fingers of mountains that lowered to a high and hilly plateau before the spine of Belfalas formed by the Emyn Ernil thrust up again. While Lothar had found it faster to take the crossroads to the fords of the Gilraen and then a boat downriver, it would have taken them longer to retrace his steps. Thankfully the weather held most of the way, giving them sunshine and breezes and the scent of leaves turning. The fourth day dawned grey and turned to a blustery drizzle, slowing their steps and making Thûllir concerned for the state of the tracks that had already had over a week to dissipate.

The sun broke through the clouds in the afternoon, giving them a clear view of the crossroads a few miles distant, and drying their gear slowly. Thûllir noted the lack of birds circling. There was no life to be found other than scavengers when they passed the crossroads and came upon the site of the Supply mission’s ambush. The location of the ambush of Lothar’s caravan was further still up the road, but he would look for signs here first, only going to that one if this proved fruitless. Wordlessly, he sat and surveyed first. This had been a smaller group than the caravan, but the snarl of tracks led him to believe the attack had still numbered a large group. The two soldiers had been straightened and their eyes closed, with swords and shields laid across their chests. Lothar’s work mostlike. Despite injuries that prevented him giving them burial, they had been honored. Unfortunately there were signs that the wild things had still found them. There were large dark spots on the earth where others had likely died, but their bodies had been removed. Possibly to be returned to families. Possibly just severely injured.

Thûllir circled the spot until he came to the broken and partly burned cart. Tracks of shod ponies well laden had formed a mass next to it and then led away to the northeast. He narrowed his eyes in thought. They had come prepared with pack animals, although the loss of the cart may have been unintentional. Almost all the supplies had been taken except for a broken barrel of spilled grain that had gotten muddy, an arrow-pierced wine skin, and a trampled and bloody round of cheese. The traces had been cut, and the horse taken. Dropping his reins, he slid off his horse and bent to look more closely at the tracks. It was faint and weathered, but the shoe of the horse from the King’s stables had left a mark where it had been standing and then stamped in softer dirt. Rear left hoof. Thûllir followed the prints a short ways, and sure enough, they merged with the others that led off to the north and east, but with an occasional clearer print before they crossed into deeper grass. He lifted his gaze to the tall hill beside them. Only a few more miles and these men would have been off and up the road for the beacon. He turned to Kaylin with a melancholy but determined air. “Lets bury these two brave souls and then follow the trail a ways before we make camp. If any are watching the road they will soon get bored of us. Our path lies north east from here, but I doubt they are close.” There were too many villages closer to the main road, even though there was a large gap between them here.

They buried the bodies in shallow graves, not taking the time for deep ones, but the ground was rocky and they were able to build decent cairns over them to protect the remains with honor. At the head of each their blades were planted and shields rested. Perhaps on the return those could be taken to their kin.

The trail was clear enough to begin with despite the grasses, as the number of beasts left marks in the soft ground or cut gashes on stones that shone white. They followed another five miles before pulling off the trail and setting up camp of their own to rest. It had been a day.

Two more days followed of tracking the large group. It was hard going when they went over more rocky terrain as they curved north away from the east-west trail, but they seemed to be tracing around the lower slopes of the hill. They reached one of the major tributary streams for the Gilrain, and a few horses peeled off to turn their tracks towards hamlets along the stream. But the main column, with the marked hoof, continued across to the northeast along the hill and aiming for the upper vale of the mountains. Another day followed of more cautious tracking, searching ahead for sign and being on alert. They were getting into the woods now, and yet another day had them passing a smaller stream as the main course of the Gilrain ran down from the east. They had to be getting closer, and the trail began to go up the side of the hill.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end
(Private)

It was... different. And something for Kaylin to contemplate as they traveled along the road to the northwest. Thûllir was focused, doing one of the many things he did best, and she loved seeing him like this. Businesslike, pensive, concentrated but also somewhat... could she call it 'tense', at times? He spoke less than he usually did around her. He did mention his worries over the tracks fading when the weather turned, and Kaylin noted the subconscious little ways that betrayed he felt like they needed to hurry. Yet, he never rushed her intentionally. Or that's what it seemed like to her. Not that he needed to rush her. She had no trouble keeping up with him - nor had she even felt ike she'd been following him so far. They traveled together.

The site of the supply mission's ambush silenced Thûllir altogether. When her husband sat down and simply looked around at first, Kaylin frowned but she did not speak. She could not sit still, however, and started walking around part of the site. Slowly. When her eyes found the slain soldiers, she drew in a deep breath and let it out in a little sigh. In spite of all the trouble he goes through to show he doesn't care... Kaylin's eyes grew dull as she watched the stains on the earth. Did bloodshed like this leave a bad taste in the soil, she wondered?
She snapped out of her thoughts when Thûllir suggested to bury the two soldiers, and her eyes lifted to him. She found she did not have much words either, for she simply nodded before they set to work.

While Thûllir was by far the better tracker, Kaylin could have followed most of the trail. Sometimes he would point something interesting out to her, but she had few questions for him of her own accord. When they set up camp at the end of the day they buried the soldiers, Kaylin was wiped. Neither of them spoke much that evening as they made camp, but in wordless agreement they still huddled together for the night, with Kaylin falling asleep the moment her head was resting comfortably against him.

The next few days she could feel her Ranger growing more careful and even more alert. Assuming that at least some part of him might worry she would not be careful enough, Kaylin tried her very best to adapt to his mood. Yet she still ventured a jest here and there when they stopped for a break or for the night. A joke. A warm smile. A kiss - once the darkness had come. Slowly, she was starting to get the sense that she was following his lead now. Because she was. She'd had no reason to think he was not following the right trail, and he almost always spotted the signs more quickly than she could, whenever the trail got less visible.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End
(Private Ranger RP Dark Roots - intro with Kaylin)

It had been good to have Kaylin with him still despite the heavy nature of their time together now. She got to have a better glimpse of his serious and exacting nature when it came to scouting, and he was thankful for her interjections of levity to pass the time and lighten the mood. It also helped to have a second set of eyes scanning for tracks when the going got tough and signs scarce. It had kept them at a faster pace than likely would have been possible on his own. The cover of being a couple just traveling and exploring on their own hadn’t been needed yet, thankfully, but as Thûllir surveyed the terrain ahead, he knew they better be ready for every eventuality.
Trees blanketed the hills and the lower slopes of the mountains here before they rose to the snowy peaks of the Ered Nimrais. Part of what concerned him is that, past this next small out-thrust knee of the mountain they followed on their left was a large valley formed by steep cliffs at the far end and then shorter slopes on the far side of the Gilrain. There was a small peak above them on the ridge past the wide shoulder of forested land, and a few darker creases of small deep valley folds along the slopes before the cliffs.

“I think we are getting close, Kaylin.” Thûllir stated quietly before gesturing ahead. “They likely have some form of lookout for anyone passing that next knob, as there can’t be all that many places that are conducive to having a good refuge up ahead before they run out of valley. Yet it still might take some time to find, especially if we leave the trail so as not to be seen.” He wanted to explain his thinking a little bit rather than just setting off in a way that might seem nonsense despite the trust she had shown. “I think we would be safer to go up the ridge through the woods above their laid trail, and find a secure spot to camp and leave the horses. Perhaps they will give themselves away by smoke from their fires and obvious signs, but it may take much searching on foot to locate them and scout their hideout.” He paused and looked across at her. “My guess is they have found a secure hidden valley on these slopes ahead, but I’d rather not stumble on it in plain sight of their lookouts.”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end
(Private)

She narrowed her eyes at the slope of the mountain separating them from the valley beyond when Thûllir spoke to explain his thoughts. If they didn’t have some sort of look-out, they were idiots. And idiots shouldn’t have been able to ambush the beacon resupply party… not unless their numbers were so great that they needed little in the ways of wits. She frowned at the thought. She had hoped there would not be that many… but the tracks they were following unfortunately indicated a large group. With a quiet sigh, she nodded.

“And I think we should trust your instincts,” she said firmly. “From what we’ve seen, there are too many of them to risk carelessness. Look-out or not, it seems that leaving the trail here is the wiser course of action.” She looked up at him with the smile she reserved for him alone, appreciating the way he was assessing the situation. “Let’s do as you say, Ranger.”

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End
(Private Ranger RP intro with Kaylin)

Thûllir liked that she gave it thought before responding, as it gave her agreement with him more weight. She had a good grasp of tactics and what made sense for defense, leading him to nod with a smile when she answered affirmatively. It helped to be like minded, but he would have listened just as well if she had objections. “Good. I think we need to find a good place to camp soon anyway.”


After another brief survey of the hillside and a final glance back at the direction their trail had been leading, Thûllir touched his heel to the horse’s side and gave a light cluck of the tongue to get the mare moving, off the trail and towards the woods to pick a steep path up the long slope. They were soon winding between trees and over or around fallen logs, soon hidden from view if there had been anyone watching them. It helped to have the slope pointing them in the direction they wanted to go, farther up the ridge, and they were able to maintain a fairly steady angle.


It took them a few hours to wind their way up through the woods and over until they were near the ridgeline that led to the valley beyond. Thûllir had been looking for a water course that opened into a grassy area so that the horses would have a place to graze. They had passed several small streams, a benefit of this area of the mountains, but the clearings in the woods had either been mostly rocky or far from a good stream. The sun was already on its downward journey to the west and had dipped below the far side of the low peak above them, when they discovered an open meadow at the base of a short tumble of rocks. There was a stream trickling down through the rocks and watering a patch of wild bilberries, but most of the ground was a dry enough stretch before the woods began again. The horses would be able to eat enough to regain strength, especially if supplemented by a little of the grain they had carried with them. Thûllir liked that there was a slightly flatter spot just under the shadow of the trees.

They worked together companionably to set up camp. The horses were set on long pickets to graze, and they erected their tent on that flat spot after removing branches and stones that would have invariably made it difficult to sleep. It was still mostly warm enough that they could have continued to sleep under the stars when necessary, but it wasn’t necessary in this sheltered location, and provided a cozy spot to serve as ‘home base.’ A small jacks for their use was dug well away from the stream in the woods, and later Thûllir built a very small cook fire in the shelter of a medium sized boulder, which served as both a heat reflector and light shield. They didn’t want to be found by their light at night, even as they would soon seek to locate the hideaway of those they had followed in the same manner.
Here they could rest, even slightly relax a little, and leave the horses behind for the renewed search in the morning. It felt like the most normal night, despite their continued caution, that they had shared since leaving Linhir the previous week. It was good for restoring energy after pushing so hard to seek out and follow their given trail. Morning would bring new tasks.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end
(Private)

Remembering from their earlier travels that Thûllir was always the best at finding good campsites, she didn't spend the first hours trying to be on the lookout for one. Besides, he probbaly wanted to get high enough - and they were nowhere near high enough for a view over the valley. So, while keeping her eyes and ears open and alert, Kaylin enjoyed the scenery. The trees, the views, the streams. She didn't travel like this often, after all, which is why missions beyond the city always felt special. When they got to a meadow that looked particularly promising to her, she expectantly glanced over at Thûllir. Would he want to continue and search for something better? The position of the sun made her doubt it. But he could be stubborn when he had good reason to, and she might be missing something about this place.

As it turned out, though, the meadow would be the site for their camp. Whether it would be for a shorter or a longer time still remained to be seen. But at least they knew it was not a guaranteed one-nighter, and so their efforts were increased. Once their camp was ready, once the work was done, Kaylin dropped herself next to the fire along with Thûllir. She was tired, but also content that they wouldn't be rushing like they had anymore. Or at least, that was her hope. For she would have much preferred to spend more leisure time with her husband back in the city of her birth. Now she was out here, it was interesting, but she missed Linhir. She hadn't been counting on any of this. And whether it was burying those two bodies on their way here, the long hours on horseback or something else, she was weary. If they hadn't been wisely rationing their supplies, she might have eaten two servings on this night. When Thûllir mentioned his plan for the early morning - to rise before dawn and go up to the ridge to observe the valley - she nonetheless promised to join him. Watching out into the night was always better with two pairs of eyes. Besides, there were much worse things than watching the sunrise with her Ranger.

Kaylin was still dead asleep when Thûllir rose, but he woke her gently. Glad that he had done so, so she could fulfil her promise, Kaylin's mood was a good one despite not being able to get the sleep she probably needed. Even though they were quiet and careful on their way up the ridge, she still managed to crack a joke and pull forth a few smiles from her serious scout. Once they'd found a spot that pleased Thûllir enough to look out for any cooking fires or smoke that might give away the robbers' camp, Kaylin pulled Thûllir down to a seated position and pulled his arm over her shoulders while slipping hers around his back. They both scanned the valley, and even though the task soon became tedious to one such as Kaylin, she maintained her focus. She'd learned a soldier's discipline long ago, after all. It still served her well.

"Mm," she suddenly hummed while her back straightened. She put a finger against Thûllir's chin and slightly turned it to where she'd been watching. "Look, hervenn. Over there."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Thûllir Bregedŷr
Dor-En-Ernil
Summer’s End
(Private Ranger RP intro with Kaylin)

Thûllir had to admit to himself that it was so far the most pleasant watch experience he had ever had, despite the early morning. Years of training himself to wake at whatever hour decided on had stood him in good stead despite the desire to sleep further snuggled into the warmth of their bedding. He promised the both of them that if they were successful this day that there would be other mornings when they didn’t need to rise so early. They had settled into a nest of sorts, high amongst the rocks of the mountainside and above the treeline of the ridge, just over the saddle. Their view to the northwest was of wooded hillsides and a wide sweeping valley beyond that was dotted with small farm hamlets, apparent where the green changed in regular shapes to the varied colors of autumn fields. Mists rose from the creases of steep ravines where streams ran down to meet the Gilraen after watering the land. It made looking for smoke a bit challenging, but the mists gave an ethereal quality to the morning.

Kaylin’s hum and straightening posture caught his attention quickly. She had seen something! Before he could check which direction she had been looking, she moved his chin to direct his gaze a little to the left of where he had been looking. It took him a second to catch the thin trail of smoke that rose straight before wafting downwind once it caught a higher breeze. Thûllir hummed confirmation that he saw what she had noticed, and surveyed the area closely so that he would remember in case the smoke suddenly stopped or he shifted position. He could see now that there was a slightly darker line of trees there and a shift in the canopy that indicated a different tree height. Likely it indicated a steep sided valley or a drop-off of some sort. It was quite some distance from where they were, but that was all the better for their own security. A slow smile began and then grew into a grin. “Good eye, hervess.” Impulsively he kissed her in recognition of her making the discovery, and then turned back to look at the lay of the land.

It appeared that if they traced along the upper edge of the treeline they would be mostly able to stay concealed and work over to then descend the mountainside above that supposed valley carefully. “Your eye has likely saved us an immense amount of time, Kaylin. We probably will still need to cover most of the ground out there at some point, but it makes sense that it would be the hideout of those we were following. If it ends up being just a hunters’ camp, at least we will have started and eliminated something.” It gave them a target. “Let’s have our own breakfast briefly, and check on the horses, and then I want to go take a look.” He estimated that it would take them several hours to find a way across the mountainside and then descend carefully for closer observation. It was on the outer range of what he felt comfortable scouting and returning from in a day. Thankfully the sun would still light their way until late if it took longer than hoped for. Light packs and armaments would be sufficient, keeping them mobile and stealthy.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end
(Private)

She grinned after he kissed her, quite pleased with her reward. "Thank you," she said confidently, as if she'd expected nothing less from herself. She raised her shoulders at his praise. "It might be them, it might not be them. Keep your praise until the time my eye proves true, hmm?" She nodded at his suggestions. "Think we can go check it out and return by nightfall?" she wondered out loud, some doubt in her voice. Maybe with him leading the way, though...

They returned to camp and quickly had breakfast, before each making a daypack and dressing themselves in quiet cloth and leather. Kaylin took the bow and quiver and the shortsword, strapping the buckler to her arm. "Too much?" she asked, making a slow, full turn with one - very amused - raised eyebrow for her ranger. Not awaiting his reply, she laughed and approached the horses. The one she'd been riding seemed to be doing alright. They'd cleaned their hoofs and brushed their coats down last night, and that good work still showed. "You get a day off," she told the animal softly. "Our own feet and boots are doing the work this time. GUard the camp for us, alright?" Of course the words were useless... but it seemed to please the horse to be spoken to in soft, friendly tones. So, why not.

"Let's go then!" Kaylin sounded chipper as she approached Thûllir. "Best not waste any time if we want to be sure we'll make it back before dark." A genuine smile mastered her features. "Whatever it is we end up finding, I'm already looking forward to another night at our little camp, here." It sure beat hurrying along some road, path or trail and sleeping somewhere much more random. Maybe.. maybe they could even sleep in tomorrow. But, knowing Thûllir's commitment to all things responsible, she wasn't about to utter that wish out loud.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates
After the Joust
(Private)

They had arrived at House Himhathol late the previous afternoon, and Ziranphel had the opportunity to see a portion of the lush estate as they were riding up to the house. Macardil had introduced her to the staff before dinner, and Ziran had a brief tour of the main areas of the house so that she wouldn’t get lost. Today she had hoped to go with him on a proper tour of the grounds and the far reaches of the estate, but it had unfortunately dawned misty and grey before turning into a windy and brisk rain that had the feeling of the early trials of Autumn there near the sea.

Instead, they had retreated to the drawing room after breakfast. It held shelves of books along one wall and ample comfortable, and less comfortable but fancier, seating. Ziran had noted the array of instruments in one corner, beside the piano, and determined that later on she would try a few of them out. For now, however, she curled up on one end of a settee and tucked her skirted legs up so that she could cover them with a throw that had been folded along the back. She had been looking forward to wearing trousers for riding, but settled on a dress for the first day once she noticed the rain upon waking. There were likely still some expectations here, but Macardil had told her before that this home was slightly more relaxed than the rest of society in Dor-en-Ernil.

Tea was brought in, and Ziran was happy to accept a cupful with a dab of honey to wrap her hands around and sip it slowly as she watched the rain out the large window overlooking the garden. It was both relaxing and gave her a slight sense of melancholy to see the streaming eaves and see the plants holding up their branches against the downpour. Her gaze traced to Silivren and then Macardil, each in their respective places, before tracking back over to the view outside. She mused about the preceding week internally. It had been challenging to deal with all the societal niceties, but great to see him joust and reconnect with some acquaintances. There were enjoyable elements. It had been worth the delay to the wedding because it had been important to him, and now it was important to both settle and find her niche here, and prepare to return home in MT and actually plan out and accomplish the wedding. Her eyes turned thoughtful as she sipped at the tea. They hadn’t actually talked about the details yet. Her voice was quiet when she addressed them both. “I was thinking we need to start planning the wedding a little, as we postponed it but didn’t set a date.”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates

Well. That was an interesting topic Karis had chosen to breach. Silivren slowly put down her cup of tea on the small table next to the ornate yet comfortable armchair she had chosen for herself. "A fair point. Indeed, it might be somewhat overdue." Her eyes flit over to her son, who'd been sitting down closer by his betrothed.

Macardil had been smiling at Ziran, nodding in agreement. It was time, yes. He would very much enjoy bringing her to Belfalas as his wife, next year. His mother's look then caught his eye, and his expression grew weary. It took a moment, but finally he rose - seemingly recalcitrant - to approach the instruments. His own violin was safely stowed in his quarters, but he often played the one available here during his visits.

Silivren looked pleased. She slanted her head just a tad as her blue gaze returned to Karis. "Wedding planning is, traditionally, more the women's business," she explained. "Although some grooms find it difficult to remember." That last sentence seemed to carry just a bit of an edge, and Macardil could be seen glancing over his shoulder - just for a second. The matron of House Himhathol continued, unperturbed as her son started testing the strings of the drawing room's violin, plucking at them quietly with his fingers to see if the tone was right. "I assume you wish for it to be held in Minas Tirith?" Silivren inquired of Karis.

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates
After the Joust

Ziran had turned her head to look at Macardil after she spoke, and caught the smile and nod, which brought the ghost of a smile to her own lips. When Silivren was the one to answer, Ziran first looked at her in mild surprise to see her giving a look towards Macardil that seemed to hold meaning. Was it in regards to her overdue comment? Ziran wasn't sure, but Macardil’s abrupt and wordless rise from his seat to go over to the instruments brought a slight crease to her brows. She watched him for a long moment as he selected a violin without turning, before looking back at Silivren, who seemed pleased. She sighed silently even before the explanation that was shared with that hint of an edge that seemed to point out that Macardil was forgetful of proper etiquette.

Ziran took a long sip of tea as Silivren continued to ask about her preferred location. Should she just ignore that? It seemed necessary here in what was her home, and not yet Ziran’s, and where Macardil deferred to his mother. Silivren was very much in charge here, but if Ziran let her remain so in this conversation, would that set the tone for their relationship going forward? She wasn’t sure. “Hmmm.” Her initial response was non-committal as she listened to Macardil checking the tuning of strings.

She lowered her cup slightly before speaking quietly, choosing to address her soon-to-be mother-in-law’s first statement briefly before answering the question, and looking at Silivren directly. “I am willing to go along with many traditions, but I am not what you may consider a traditional woman, Silivren. Many would consider my entire life and career to not be women’s business. Thus, it seems ridiculous to me that one of the most interested parties would be entirely excluded from planning, even for the sake of appearances. So, while I am happy to discuss planning with you, and welcome your input, any final decisions will be between Macardil and myself.” Perhaps it wasn’t the best way to build bridges, but Ziran got tired of the silent communications. Macardil would hate to hear it, but she could see how his penchant for subtlety had developed.

Only pausing a beat, her voice relaxed slightly as she continued, smiling slightly. “As to your question, yes, I would like to have a ceremony in Minas Tirith because I have family there, and I do want them to witness our commitment to one another. Yet I also recognize that it is important to have some acknowledgement of it here as well.” She lifted her shoulder in a slight shrug. “I am not opposed to having two ceremonies if we were to have a small one here with your family and household before we return, and then a modest gathering in the city so that those we know may attend.” Ziran’s gaze flicked to Macardil to catch his reaction before returning to Silivren as she fell silent.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Commanding the Bregolalph, docking at Pelargir for resupply.
Early in the Year 3017 TA

The ancient city of Pelargir was always a sight to behold. It was a site where much of the history of Gondor was found and had taken place. No other port in all the Realm had it’s intricate and grandiose complex of quays, wharfs, and docked ships. The seat of Gondor’s naval power, it was a city bustling with sailors, warehouses, and mariners. Almost all seaward trade passed through it’s confines, but the sheer volume of incoming and outgoing vessels was myriad and vast. Who knew what else could sneak into such a guarded lair, right under the very noses of the authorities.

As for Abrazimir Dimaethor, swan-knight and captain of the warship, Bregolalph, it held slightly more significance. As a man of Dol Amroth, there was an internal measure of rivalry with the city of Pelargir, as his own home had often competed for that title of being the foremost and proudest of all of Gondor’s ports. Feuds and tavern brawls were not uncommon between men of Pelargir and men of Belfalas. Often, his own people got the worst of it, simply because there were usually more people of Pelargir. But coming here, passing through here, was a necessity he could not avoid. Hopefully, with the preparation of the war long in the making about to unfold, such trivial feuding would be put aside for the greater good. A man could hope.

The Bregolalph, with all it’s paperwork diligently in order, was admitted and assigned to a wharf, alongside many other vessels, both of war and of trading. Abrazimir issued his orders as they dropped anchor. They would be here only two days, for resupply and rearmament, before continuing their assigned patrols along the coastlands of Gondor. Half the crew could dismount for relaxation and rest, the other half could tomorrow. But Abrazimir, along with Uichanar and some other officers, disembarked to pay a visit to the Port Authority and Captain of the Garrison, to see if there was any relevant news he ought to be aware of, or if there were any messages awaiting him, from home or from Command.

Two by two, the small party walked along the quays. As he thought, because of the looming War, there was very little jeers or taunts cast towards the Dol Amrothians, with their blue-and-white colours and the White Swan of their Lord crested on their chests. Not that Abrazimir would have permitted any sort of fight to break out between his crew and any person in the city. Discipline still had to be maintained, even over the millennia-long competition of naval traditions between his own and this host city. Still, he gazed often, with scrutiny, left to right and back again, trying to see and pre-empt any such conflict that might break out. His authority as a knight and minor lord should give him that power, right?

And then he saw…a face.

At first, the relevance didn’t hit him. And he continued, with his party, to walk in rhythmic step towards his destination. But as a name or word could linger on the tip of his tongue, so too did that…face. He seen that face before somewhere. And the emotions that it conjured up were…not good. They felt antagonistic. Not of the kind between himself and the folk of Pelargir. This felt more. This felt fatalistic. Bloody. He was a dozen paces beyond the figure that he passed and recognized, when he paused and turned. He just had to know. He could be polite about it. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding or trick of the mind.

Still, his hand moved to the pommel of his sword, at his hip, when he halted and turned, causing his companions to veer and not stumble into him, out of surprise. ”You, sir!” Abrazimir shouted, raising his other hand to point at the other figures. ”I know of you. A moment, if you will.” He stated, beginning to walk towards the other figures, as if to have a friendly talk and reminiscence perhaps of some distant field or garrison they both might have served in. Or maybe, as his gut believed, there was something more.