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

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir (16)
Early June, 3018 - Pelargir Harbor

It felt like ages since they had last been here. Trev had watched with feelings of great hope as the Wingolost gently nosed her way into a wharf. Trev had climbed partly up the rigging, hoping to get a good view of all the other ships around, but there were too many, and he couldn't see all of them. Hopefully, the.. what'd she call it? He frowned as he failed to recall the name of the ship that Renia had called home, but whatever it was, he figured he'd recognize it easily enough. An elvish looking ship, it had been. There weren't many of those among all these Gondorian ships, most of which were fashioned to resemble swans.

As soon as the ship was made secure on the docks, Trev grabbed a free-hanging rope that was secured to part of the mast up above, and used it to swing down to the deck. It was hard to believe that only a few weeks ago, he'd been so weak and sick he couldn't even stand up. And he had no desire to ever get that way again. But today, he was eager to see if Renia might be here, or if she had been here and maybe left him a note.

"Alright, you know what to do," Samroth yelled at them. They had sent a couple of men ahead, to scout out the harbor and find an empty wharf space, among other things. These 'scouts' had reported a ship that was due to come in to the harbor in a few hours, in a great hurry to get somewhere. The Reviamath had sent word ahead to have a wharf held for them, along with a large load of fresh supplies for them, so they could continue on without much delay. Naturally, Dev had one of his men paint over the name 'Wingolost' and in its place, paint 'Reviamath'.

Trev was appalled to realize his father's intention, of course. But, with some difficulty, he kept his mouth shut and tried to pretend like he didn't care. He didn't want to get locked up in the brig during this brief stop at the harbor. As soon as they were docked, before anyone had even set out the gangplank to allow disembarking to happen, Trev swung over the railing and hit the dock below so hard he tumbled down to his hands and knees. But he got up immediately and set off down the row before anyone could yell after him. He had been assigned to help with loading the stolen supplies on board, but he had no intention of helping the pirates steal anything. They'd probably be angry at him, but let them be. He would've refused to do it anyway, and besides, he had much better things to do.

Down the row of piers he hastened, looking quickly at each ship that he passed, but to his disappointment, none looked anything like Renia's. When he reached the end of the pier, he let out a sigh, but the lack of elvish ship didn't discourage him entirely. He got down on his stomach and took a look under the last dock, peering intently at the water underneath. No bottles floated there, and he saw no string that seemed to hold anything in place, so he got up and moved to the next pier. Then the next, and the next... Down the row he worked, checking each one. As he went, he got to thinking about how huge this harbor was, and decided that the next time he saw Renia, he would suggest that they establish a particular pier to use for their message thing...

After having checked under several piers, Trev noticed the group of people that were heading his way, marching double file like soldiers. He ducked his head down, trying to keep out of their way, so not to draw attention to himself, and only glanced up briefly, trying to get a look at the insignia. Little did he know, but he glanced up at exactly the wrong moment. He recognized their insignia immediately, and as his eyes widened slightly, he swiftly turned to find something to do, hoping to look busy so none of them would look too closely at him. Ignoring a few sailors working on the dock nearby, he found the ship beside him was suddenly very interesting, and he studied the knot holding it to the pier with close intensity, so that he could have his face looking downward while the soldiers passed. His heart was pounding, waiting for them to finish passing.

That was when he caught sight of a glint in the water, through a gap between two boards. Hopeful, he peeked over the edge, spotting a bottle floating in the water. Yes! It was tied by a slim string, almost thread really, to the leg supporting the pier. He quickly caught hold of this and pulled the bottle up. The cork in the top had kept the message dry, and he had to struggle not to grin as he saw that there was a message inside.

"You, sir!"

The call made Trev freeze. His grip on the bottle tightened, and he swallowed nervously. His back was to them now. Could he pretend he didn't hear? Perhaps.. if he was really lucky, the knight was talking to someone else that was working on the dock a little ways beyond him. Yes, he tried to convince himself that was the case. The man must know other people. He'd spoken as if he knew the person he was talking to, right? Of course, Trevadir had never seen any images of his father when he was about sixteen, or he might have been shocked to realize that it would be like looking in a mirror. If he could have known this, he might have suspected that Sir Dimaethor had mistaken him for Dev. He also didn't know much about the way that young Dev had frequently gotten into trouble when he lived at home, basically neighbors with Abrazimir. But as it was, all Trev was thinking about was that Dev had told him he was wanted by the law, and that all the guards and knights and everyone would be searching for him the same as they were Dev and all the others. That if he ever got caught, he'd be executed in some horrible manner.

While his brain was frantically thinking through all of this, and hoping that he might not have been the one to catch the man's eye, his fingers were working just as frantically, to pull out the cork, slide out the rolled-up message, and slip another inside, in its place. One which he had written in advance. He had intended to read anything she might have left, then add a response to it on his own note, but if things were about to get problematic... he suspected he wouldn't have time for any of that. He crammed the cork into the top and dropped it back in the water. The string would keep it from floating away. And, hopefully, no one but her would find it.

Standing, Trev realized that ignoring the man had not had the desired effect. Instead, he had actually started coming toward Trev, and as he reluctantly turned, Trev saw that the knight had his hand on his sword. Eyes widening slightly at seeing that, Trev took a step back in alarm, then glanced quickly behind him, realizing he was trapped on this slim dock that branched off of the main pier. Unless he climbed aboard the ship next to him... the only other option was to dive into the water, which he was reluctant to do because of the note clutched in his hand. He swallowed and shook his head. "Uh, no, you must be mistaken, you've got the wrong guy," He muttered, but he knew better. Abrazimir must have seen him plenty of times, when he used to go stay at his grandparents' house on the other side of Lond Col. He must have some idea of who Trev was, even if he might not know his name. Trev felt sure that the man would agree that he couldn't be mistaken. Which meant that Trev needed to get out of here, quickly, before they arrested him or worse.

He swiftly stuffed the note into his pocket as he turned and bolted for the ship whose knots he had recently been 'admiring'. In seconds, he had managed to board it on the starboard side, darted around the cabins that rose up in the middle of the ship so that they would lose sight of him, and once he had gotten to the port side of the deck, he leaped down to the dock on the other side, just as he had leaped off of his dad's ship. From there, he ran for where the long pier joined with all of the branching off docks, hoping to lose any potential pursuit.

[Ercassie]

Lady Isys Azrubêl assisted by Anardil ‘Warder’ Thavron
and also by Lotte. A non particular morning. Lond Côl.
Private / Random one-off type post

Dawn’s tide broke against the solitary silhouette, cascading off to either side in a split herd of pulsating white foam that raced for the shore. Isys didn’t turn her feet in the soaked sand. Didn’t gasp at the impudent spray. Though the brine dashed high against her form and freckled up as far as her lips with a dousing rebuke. It did not rouse her from the stupor which held her there. The pummel of the sea, a pulsing certainty. One hand skulled idly at her left, the wet pooled all about her waist. The right hand skittered fingers on the surface of the ocean, playing out a soundless tune she did not know. Grey eyes were set in focus about the far horizon, where day raised it’s pale flame and the woman’s lips muttered without words to make sense of. Her back flexed gradually backward to tease the touch of the tide, so that her moon face could soon fully bathe in the sky’s reflection. But if it were all some manner of worship aimed at blessings from the Valar, then it was a ceremony her oldest, and perhaps only, friend had read of in no tome.


He came to the horse first, found it waiting on the beach and dared not think on how long that had been the case. Before glancing with a hand for a thought of reins, which were not to be found. A soft hand rose to vow comfort, and home soon. This was not the first place he had come to find her, but it would be the last. Discarding boots with an atypical abandon, the man waded out with purpose, great strides powered by the swing of strong arms. He spoke her name when she was too close to evade him. There was no way she could not have heard his approach. And yet surprise marked the grey eyes as he netted her hand in his.

He gently eased her to stand better upright. His face, so familiar, begged that she would see sense, that she should come where he led. She did not argue, or protest. She did not smile, or show any sign of tears spent. She merely allowed him to tow her with a quiet patience back to shore, glancing now and then about their progress with some puzzlement, as though she could not have said how she came to be there in the first place.


Sneaking her into the house was accomplished by means of the servant’s passages, where the Lady’s mother would never walk nor see them. Isys tailed behind her Warder like the stream of a kite, purposely directed, in hope and practice against the unpredictable wind of her whims. Lotte then in privacy, was permitted to dry and comb out the lady’s long hair, patting away the damp from pale skin and pile up the dark satin streaming at the first like seaweed unto it was made unto braided ropes, coiled and soft. The devoted servant sent Warder away before she set to de-robing and re-dressing the young lady, who shivered at first but at the same time seemed not to notice. Wordless as the rigmarole carried on, Isys moved only where her limbs were guided, and slowly turned, arms raised and lowered, draped into the shape and suit which were called for. As the older woman committed to the final touches, gold paint to colour the oval of her living doll’s finger nails, Warder coughed from the corridor, and an invite was called back in response, that he might enter the chamber.

“There now, she’s fine and dusted,” the maid leaned back to admire her work. Not entirely convinced, the other risked his own disapproval and descended into a decorated seat. He looked to reach out between them, for the noblewoman’s hands, yet did not dare in the end. He merely waited. As did Lotte. For some explanation ? The pair of them knew by now they would not receive any. They could only hope there would be no need for them to try to provide one to the Lady Eressild.


When that fastidious noblewoman herself entered the room, flanked by Elen as ever, both Warder and Lotte straightened to their respective full height, in due respect. With a subtle duck of her perfectly coiffured head, the elder Lady Azrubêl dismissed her daughter’s aides and, after a moment of unspoken impatience, her own assistant as well. Elen was clearly not impressed to be sent from her Mistress’s side, and compensated by loitering at the doorway until decorum at the very last insisted she depart.

“That is the third time this week,” she mentioned, stiffly, toward her peers, who exchanged an almost conspiratorial glance between them and gave up none else. Raising her chin in a tiny ‘huff’, the younger handmaiden then removed herself from their clearly undesired company. Neither complained to see her depart and, left alone at last, were at their leisure to debate over the recurrent behaviour of the younger lady they had both long cared for. They were at their leisure to so speak, … and yet neither one ventured forth words. It was not their place to gossip. And there was much else they could each be about while the mother and her daughter too cloistered their secrets behind closed doors. Whatever was spoke between them would make small difference, all knew. For this was not the first such morning. And it would not be the last.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

The figure in question paused and Abrazimir knew there was no way the young man did not hear him call out. He knew he was being addressed. Why run or flee if one had nothing to hide? But Abrazimir had no intention to wait for a counter-reply or acknowledgement in turn, making his way through the crowded pier towards the man in question. Abrazimir was certain beyond a doubt he seen this man somewhere. Maybe just a trick of the eye. Maybe just a lookalike. Perhaps they had served somewhere together. Or lived nearby one another. Or…or served against one another. But he wouldn’t know until he asked and made a closer inspection.

Behind Abrazimir, Uichanar and two other mariners followed. Like their commander, they had the stern faces of veterans, with pursed lips, hard eyes, and skeptical expressions of all that weren’t their close comrades. They were all armed and they were all disciplined, obedient soldiers. Surely there was no danger though. The young man in question fished up something out of the water, looking like a bottle. Or more suspiciously, a message in a bottle, a tactic used by…spies. But what the young man did with the bottle, they could not see. No, they were looking at his face. Because that was the center of Abrazimir’s attention.

Then the man looked at them, directly. And Abrazimir’s gut feeling was even more served when he was absolutely sure he had seen this man somewhere. He was indeed remembering someone else. But the resemblance was so similar that he had to inquire and know. Such a coincidence was rare in Middle-Earth. Yet it was Uirchanar who saw and recognized the tell-tale patterns of a guilty man. The sideways glance, the initial ignoring of their hail, the delay in answering or speaking… something was not right.

Uh, no, you must be mistaken, you’ve got the wrong guy the young man finally said, when Abrazimir and his party were some ten or so paces away. Now even Uirchanar was starting to see a resemblance to someone they know. He too had lived in Lond Col all his life. This young man reminded him of a certain bird-trainer who lived across the river with the Azrubels, back when Uirchanar himself had been a young man. He and the bird-trainer were contemporaries but…what would a scion of that family be doing all the way out here in Pelargir? No, it was a strange mystery indeed.

”It will take only a moment. If you’re not the man, then you have nothing to fear-” Abrazimir began to say, but Uirchanar’s intuition now was flaring up.

”Don’t run!” Uirchanar started to shout but the young man did just that, turning on his heel and breaking into a dash to the nearest ship. Abrazimir and his group instinctively dashed after, though they hardly made it a half-dozen paces when the young man had clambered up the side of the vessel and already onto the dock. They couldn’t just board another ship, armed as they were. It would be a breach of so many rules and laws and…

”Around! Other side! Move it.” Abrazimir snapped at two of his men. ”Uirchanar, return to the ship, make ready for fire action!”

”Fire action! In the port? Are you-“ Uirchanar gasped at the sudden order but Abrazimir was heading off with his men already, doubling around the vessel the fugitive had climbed on, to cut around and hopefully corner and intercept him. What was the Lord thinking? Shooting off their ship-board artillery, with fire, in a crowded dock like this? What did he see in the young man? What danger? There was no way the young man could be in any shape or form a scion of ole Dravedir…

Uirchanar raced back to the Bregolalph. Abrazimir and two of his marines raced up the dock, moving around the vessel, losing speed and momentum as they tried not to barge into other sailors or into crates. Try not to slip and fall into the water, because in their armour they would drown very easily. ”Move it, there! Make a way!” His men shouted, crossing the bow of the docked vessel and to the other side, where they saw the fugitive leap down. One of Abrazimir’s men pointed, clear and straight, right at the runaway man. ”Stop him!” He insisted of all the onlookers.

And everyone looked back and forth, between the pursuers and runaway. And didn’t lift a finger to help.

Whatever curse he might have for Pelargir, Abrazimir kept to himself. He did not shout or cry out, saving his breath for the run, as he was too heavily armoured. But he knew, he had to get that young man. He knew something. He had been somewhere. Doing something…he should not be doing. To the detriment of the Realm. Why else would he run if he was not guilty? Abrazimir was going to get him and put all the stops to him, to make him talk.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir (16)
Early June, 3018 - Pelargir Harbor

What on Arda Trev was thinking, he didn't know. Why did he linger and put his return message in the bottle, when he knew those guys were watching? What if they went and took a look at it, and then Renia didn't get it.. maybe he should have grabbed the whole bottle and stuffed it in a pocket, and brought it along.. but then how would he have left a message back to her? And what if he didn't get a chance to move it..

These should have been the least of his worries as he leaped down from the other ship and ran for his father's. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to make sure Renia got his letter, and he was worried now that those knights and soldiers might pull the bottle up and read the letter and poem that were intended for Renia. It wouldn't be the end of the world, of course, but mail was personal, and shouldn't be read by those it was not intended for.

But he couldn't return to the pier where he had left the bottle. Those soldiers were already moving to try and cut him off, and he thought some others had split apart to block the way he had just come. Nearing the place where the pier branched off from the main dock.. he leaped across the space where the corner formed a gap over the water. If he missed, he'd be landing in the water, but thankfully he made it, and avoided being cornered on the pier. While he enjoyed swimming well enough, he wasn't really in favor of trying to swim at the moment.. especially with Renia's unread note in his pocket. Landing on the dock, he swiftly ducked and weaved around other sailors who, thankfully, seemed uninterested in following the knight's instructions to stop him. His bare feet pounded the wooden dock, trying to get further away, hoping his pursuers would be left behind. His father's ship was down on the far end.. could he make it there?

He wasn't sure what his plan was, exactly. If he'd been thinking better, he might have led them into that warehouse where he and Renia had had their first adventure.. it was easy to get lost in there, he recalled, and there were plenty of good hiding places. But all he could think about at the moment was getting to his dad. His dad would protect him, right? Sure, he talked tough and acted like he didn't care about Trev, but he surely wouldn't really let all these soldiers drag him off to prison, right?

He had no idea why sir Dimaethor was so intent on chasing him, but with what he felt like was a whole legion of soldiers and swan knights after him, Trev wasn't about to stop or slow down, however innocent he was. Though he hadn't done anything, he was sure they wouldn't believe anything he told them. They'd arrest him and execute him. There'd be no sort of trial and no one would give him a chance to try and plead innocent... and besides, Dev had told him plenty about this particular knight, and while Trev wasn't sure how much of it was exaggerated, he couldn't help thinking about all of those things as he raced down the length of the dock.

Just as he was beginning to think he couldn't run much further, he saw some familiar men ahead, carrying crates on board the familiar ship. They seemed like a mile away, but he knew it wasn't that far. A few yards, really. Still too far to help yet, but close enough for Trev to see them, and them to see Trev and his dilemma. The sight of the familiar gave him a bit of renewed energy as he put on a slight burst of speed.. hoping that perhaps he would find aid with these guys. However much they disliked Trev, they were all a crew, right? They had to follow his father's orders, too, and he really, really hoped that Dev wouldn't let him down this time. "Help!" He called ahead, breathlessly. He didn't slow his pace, and he didn't dare take a moment to look behind him, but he was sure the soldiers were in hot pursuit.


Several yards ahead, where the pirate's ship was docked, two crewmen had been carrying a crate up the gangplank. Hearing Trev's yell for help, they looked his way, swore as they spotted the handful of soldiers coming up behind him, and yelled for the captain. The crate was hastily shoved aboard the ship as Dev hurried out to see what the trouble was. He stared for a few seconds in disbelief at what he saw.. Trev, leading soldiers and a knight, right toward their ship!? There weren't many, but he could only assume that where there were a few, more would follow, especially now that they knew he was here. He had to react swiftly. "Ready the ship!" He snapped to whoever was closest to him, then waved him away to do his job, and called for Alrek and some others to come to his aid, in case they had to fight their way out of this.

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

The piers were crowded. And not a single one of any crew, dockworker, or sailor was amused by a party of men crashing through their midst in pursuit of another. Shouts and warnings often had little effect, as most looked on with curiosity, not ever imagining they would be in the way. And these men were proud, stubborn, sometimes hearing the warning and still not moving out of the way, as if daring Abrazimir and his men to crash or shove past them, in hopes of provoking a fight or worse. The young fugitive seemed to maneuver much easier and while he garnered some distance from the pursuers, the trio of Belfalas men still managed to keep him in sight, see where he was going, and come to the same place.

But rounding that final corner, on the last stretch of wharf, Abrazimir and his men came face to face with the entire crew. All of whom closed ranks around their man. And all of whom, now scurrying like angry ants, to repel the pursuers, to get their ship ready, and to escape as fast as they could. Angry ants now bristling with sword, spear, and knife. Abrazimir saw them all and couldn’t believe his eyes. They were all pirates! He knew them, by their demeanor and style. They were here, in Pelargir, resupplying like it was their own port. Despite the danger, he became filled with a cold wrath. The young man had brought him to a much larger catch.

Abrazimir drew his longsword and gripped it, both hands. His compatriots drew out their smaller swords, that were to be paired with shields, but neither of them brought any. A few pirates stood to impede their passage. If he could only fight past them, through them, he could stop that ship…! ”Amroth!” Abrazimir shouted the war cry of his people and advanced upon the first waiting pirates. Chaos broke loose as the two sides met on the narrow wharf. With a great two-handed, downward slash, he battered the buckler shield of one pirate, crashing him flat down onto the planks of the wharf, while using his armoured forearms to bash another pirate clean into the waters beside them.

Behind, his compatriots engaged in fierce duels with other combatants, with one of his men slaying a foe, while the other was quicky dispatched by the skilled knifework of a fearsome specimen of a pirate. Another pirate lunged at Abrazimir’s flank, but rather than fear the stroke, Abrazimir turned towards it and accepted it, his heavy armour turning aside the blade. And more importantly, bringing the pirate within reach of Abrazimir. The pirate’s smile quickly turned to a frown as Abrazimir bashed the pommel of his sword into his face. And as the man staggered backwards, Abrazimir slashed up and across the pirate’s torso, sending a spray of blood high into the air.

Through the mist of that, Abrazimir glanced at the ship…and saw both Dev and Trevadir, though he knew not who they were. His attention was quickly distracted by another pirate. And while his flank was soon cleared, Abrazimir found himself alone suddenly, was his other compatriot collapsed, gripping at a deadly wound across his stomach, bleeding out fast. Three pirates had been slain. One of Abrazimir’s men too, and another close to death. Abrazimir cursed, because the pirate ship seemed ready to sail and the pursuers had been delayed long enough. Even the one Abrazimir knocked into the water, knife between his teeth, swam to his ship and clambered up a net, turning to grin and mock Abrazimir.

One hand holding his sword, towards four pirates who faced him, Abrazimir backed up and with one hand, reached for his wounded soldier, to help him onto his feet and together they could escape. Surely Uirchanar would have put their own ship to sail, to block the pirate’s escape, and then the rest of the port would realize the danger and join in. He just had to make it out of here alive. Would the pirates pursue him in return or make good on their own escape?

[Karis Ziranphel]

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

At Kaylin’s comment about looking forward to another night in their camp, Thûllir nodded with a slight smile. “Then let us hope this is indeed the ones we are seeking. If it is, I think we can afford to take a day of rest tomorrow beyond observing. I think we both need it.” They had been pushing hard for days, and part of him was reluctant to set out today as well, but he knew the sooner they established their target, the safer they were themselves. “I think we can do so safely with this distance unless they prove to be highly vigilant or we meet with some accident, so plan to return but prepare for the worst.”

It didn’t take them long to get ready after breakfasting, setting the camp to rights for being gone all day and moving the pickets for the horses to a new area of grass. Thûllir had chuckled and given a slight shake of his head in response to Kaylin’s joking. Her attire was far lighter than her normal armor, and suitable enough for woodswork. He was dressed mostly in muted brown this day, having rolled and tied his cloak over the small pack that nested beside the quiver on his back so that it would stay out of his way and not catch on the undergrowth. The cloth at the top of his quiver had been pulled up and tied to cover the fletching, and he checked that it was secure with a tie that could easily be undone if necessary. It both gave some protection for the fletching and kept them from falling out. The majority of the weight he carried was, as always, water, and a full skin of it rested under the light pack. He had filled it from the spring to take along because there was never any guarantee they would find clean water during the day. He was leaving his sword behind in favor of the more maneuverable short blades and his bow.

“Aye.” Thûllir tilted his head in the direction they needed to set out as he squinted his blue grey eyes in an answering grin at Kaylin’s declaration that they should begin. “It will be nice not to have to follow tracks until we are close, so we can move quickly.” They needn’t run, and it was safer not to, but they could travel faster today. Setting off, they alternated taking the lead as they made their way along the line of the ridge where the trees transitioned to scrub and rocks before the higher elevations which just bore wind blown grass over the stones at the top of the ridge. Over rocks and around bushes they wove their way steadily, with glances ahead to maintain their direction and constant alertness to any watchers. Occasionally they paused to take a water break and just listen to the ambient noises, but it wasn’t all silence as they made quiet comments to one another. Sometimes Thûllir would point out a feature he recognized, or questioned Kaylin about a plant he was less familiar with.

Eventually, they drew close to the area they had been aiming toward all morning, and the darker line of the trees showed the crease of the valley with an occasional glimpse of grass. Thûllir called a short halt to survey the slopes for any watchers - none up here - and to try to choose the best route down the slope through the trees. They needed to choose a way down that also afforded cover from those who might chance looking up slope, and wouldn’t cause much noise.

The hillside that led down to where they had seen the trail of smoke earlier in the day was quite steep. Thankfully the trees were still quite dense between the rocks, so that although leaves had begun to litter the ground in areas, they could lower down past the steepest sections and catch themselves from sliding. They went much more slowly now, as the trees began to thin ahead, and they caught sight of a line of felled trees laying in a haphazard but thick line that could serve as an effective barrier despite not being laid in a traditional wall. Thûllir crouched beside a large rock and assessed what he could see. To the right the ground seemed to continue on in a more shallow slope but then disappeared in a steep dropoff, while the way ahead was more abrupt but mostly blockaded by logs. Shifting slightly, he could see a little further there was a small mixed herd of oxen and horses grazing at the near end of a narrow valley. He murmured to Kaylin, “I think the logs are just to deter the animals from wandering uphill without taking the effort to build a fence. I don’t see sign of any outpost at this end to watch them either. We will have to be quiet and calm to not spook them, but we’ll need to get closer to see if there is a camp.”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

Silivren was watching Karis attentively, her expression perfectly composed and bordering on friendly as her son's betrothed made certain comments. It seemed that Macardil's choice for a life partner was more vocal, this time. She had known Mellaurel had had her own opinions, but the girl had kept them to herself and to Macardil - behind closed doors. As a rule, Mellaurel had deferred to Silivren. It did not seem like Karis would be doing the same. Her son's betrothed likely did not know just how much less strict Silivren was about applying the nobility's social ettiquette than most other matrons were. If the ranger knew, she might deign to appreciate it a bit more.

When Silivren glanced over to Macardil, she caught a smile on his face as he picked up a bow and seemed to be busy debating what song to play. Silivren slanted her head, though her expression remained as composed as it had been before Karis' reply. Macardil had been more vocal himself with Mellaurel than he was being now with Karis. Just a moment ago, Silivren had figured - hoped - the reason for this was that her son was now older and perhaps wiser. That he had learned to accept certain customs. However, now she was starting to think otherwise. That he knew Karis was quite capable of speaking her mind on her own. That he believed that his interference, his protection, was less necessary this time around.

Her reply, however, came smoothly. "A small ceremony here with no one besides the family and the household, is rather pointless. The family, as well as the members of the household that we need, will travel to Minas Tirith if that is where you wish to have the ceremony. The issue is not about location, dear. The issue lies more with your wish for a modest gathering. Modest by your terms, I suspect, is much less than what would be expected of us, even if we announce it as a modest affair."

Macardil looked over his shoulder and turned partly toward his betrothed. "You do not want a large gathering?" he asked her gently. "I would not want you to feel like you have been treated unfairly, or differently..." He paused, trying to find the right way to explain his words. "Mellaurel and I were married in Dol Amroth. It was a grand party, and we had arranged for both transportation and accommodation for her family and friends. And while you have not left the impression on me that you would wish for the same - I still wish for you to know that in case you do..." He raised the violin and the bow slightly. "Well. You can have it all, Ziran."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates - After the Joust

Ziran almost snorted at Silivren’s calling a wedding pointless after first calling it overdue, but only allowed herself a questioning tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow. What did she see as the purpose of a wedding? Only to be seen by society? She herself had always seen it as the opportunity for family and friends to witness and affirm a couple’s commitment to one another. Macardil’s voice drew her attention away from responding, and she looked at him again as he spoke. The words both caught at her heart and soothed it in turn. She gave him a long look.

“Thank you, my love.” Ziran smiled at him, loving that he meant it. It would never do to compare herself to his first love or try to match all of those experiences, even if society might see her as coming out the poorer in their own comparisons. It would be easy to be jealous if she allowed herself, but that way was poisonous. He wouldn’t be who he was if not for Mellaurel, and she never wanted to compete with a memory. It was better to continue in being true to her own self, and that was one who never loved large crowds, and preferred parties with people she knew. Besides not wanting anyone there who had snubbed Macardil or proven themselves false, that was what kept coming back. She didn’t mind a party and celebrating, but definitely didn’t want the celebration tainted by snooty aristocrats or gawkers. The past weeks at the joust had been enough of Dol Amroth society this year in her estimation. It would be nice to have some of her family there from Pinnath Gelin if they were up for the trip.

She sat in silence for a few moments as she sifted through her own feelings about the matter, examining the shifting shades of her tea before speaking slowly. “I don’t want strangers at our wedding. Family and friends, yes. Acquaintances perhaps, but not strangers who are only there for the spectacle or due to expectations and not to actually celebrate along with us.” Her gaze lifted to Macardil again and then over to Silivren. “Let it be known for its exclusivity rather than large spectacle. If we invite King Elessar and Queen Arwen as well as Prince Faramir and his lady Eowyn no one can claim we do not have sufficient nobility present.” She had no doubts that each would attend if their schedules allowed it. More noble guests might be tolerable if they were actually friends or relations.

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir (16) with Capt. Dev & crew
Early June, 3018 - Pelargir Harbor

As Trev ran toward the ship, which seemed a welcome refuge for once... he watched some of his fellow crew members draw weapons. But not for him. For the men pursuing him. He heard his father yell at him to get on board, now. Without a glance back, Trev rushed up the gangplank and onto the deck of their ship, breathing hard after running the whole length of the harbor as fast as he could. He'd made it! He could hardly believe it.

"Come on," Dev urged him, a sword in one hand, and grabbed Trev by the arm with the other. "Get inside, and stay out of this." He shoved Trev toward the door that would take him below deck, then paused to look down at the scene. His eyes narrowed as he took in the battle. He knew this knight. He had, only a few months ago, shot flaming missiles at Dev's ship, trying to sink them. He was the reason they had temporarily fled North, and got stuck in the ice. He wanted to give him a little payback for that, now.

Reaching his father's side, and what he believed was safety, Trev came to a stop. Instead of doing as Dev said to do, Trev turned at last to see those who were chasing him. And then his eyes widened. Only three of them? He froze, watching the small-scale battle erupt on the pier below. Three men against all of their crew! And Trev had led them here.. where they were so vastly outnumbered. He'd certainly turned the tables around on them, but he hadn't meant to. He felt his heart sink, watching as one of the soldiers was slain. Then one or two of their own crew fell...

Dev briefly met Abrazimir's gaze as the latter glanced up at him, after slaying a third man of his crew. There were still four of Dev's crewmen down there. And those four, he knew, were among some of his best fighters. He almost considered sticking around to watch how it would turn out. The pirates began moving in to surround the single knight, even as he backed away, supporting his wounded man. The odds seemed quite good that the pirates might be able to get rid of the formidable Dimaethor heir for good, and not only would that make it much easier for them to sail these parts without as much persecution, but it would also be rather satisfying to Dev, who had once been warned against even speaking to the eldest daughter of that same family. While he no longer held any interest in trying to flirt with her, or any other women, he had not forgotten how he had been scorned by all of these 'noble' people.. particularly the Dimaethors. And he held onto grudges for a very long time. With a little smirk, he gave a little nod toward his men, which he meant as a nod of encouragement to finish off the lone knight who had, rather foolishly in Dev's opinoin, just walked into a hornet's nest. Then he turned away from the railing, feeling rather confident that they would no longer have to worry about Abrazimir Dimaethor. Quite pleased with this thought, he hurried off to get his ship underway, knowing they'd need to make a hasty escape before all the guards of Pelargir came swarming down on them. He figured that between four of his best fighters, they could handle one man, even with his armor and excessive training.

Trev had lingered instead of going below as he was ordered. He remained standing a little behind Dev, watching with dismay at what was happening.. feeling as if it was all his fault. When Dev turned and walked away, Trev looked after him for a moment, then looked back at the four scary men who were moving closer. They meant to kill the man, if they could, he was sure of it. Though he had caught his breath by now, after his run, Trev found his heart was still pounding. He moved closer to the railing and looked down. His gaze went first to the slain soldier lying on the dock, then at the three pirates.. men he knew and had sailed with. While he had not particularly liked any of them, he had become familiar with them, anyway.

Next, his gaze darted toward the man being supported by Abrazimir. He looked badly hurt... and would probably die. That would make five deaths. All because Trev had panicked and fled, and had brought them here. He felt the deck shift slightly, just then. They were pulling away from the pier! An idea suddenly hit him. Turning back to the scene that was about to become a battle, he let out a short whistle through his teeth to get their attention. As one of the crewmen looked up at him, Trev made a motion with his arm as if to say, 'come on!' Hopefully, if he was really lucky, they would assume that it was an order that had come from his father. If nothing else, maybe they would see that they were pulling away from the harbor. "C'mon, hurry!" He called urgently. As if they might be left behind if they didn't come right now.. and they surely wouldn't want to be left behind. Not after killing two soldiers and a swan knight. The guards would not let that slide, right?

He held his breath for a moment as he waited. The man seemed to hesitate for a moment... he really wanted to kill the knight. But then, to Trev's relief, he said something to the others in the Umbarian language, and they all turned and ran to get aboard before the ship left them behind. Trev gripped the railing, looking down as he watched the harbor slip away slowly. More than anything, he feared that Sir Abrazimir would be too determined, and would try to board the ship and avenge his fallen men. If he did, how many of them would he kill before they overwhelmed and defeated him? He didn't want any more bloodshed, no more killing... on either side. And especially, he wished that none of this had ever happened.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

Silivren's brow was tightening slightly as Ziran was saying she did not want strangers at the wedding. No one there merely because of expectations. By the Valar. Commoners also invited people along the expectations set for them - did they not? Silivren had been told of many a discussion by friends both in Dol Amroth and in Minas Tirith. For the nobility and the common folk alike, it seemed like a typical wedding problem. Did Ziran really wish to snub certain people simply because she wanted a small affair?

She was already shifting her eyes to her son, but Macardil's were still on his betrothed. He seemed to be taking in Ziran's words carefully. For Macardil was weighing what Ziran had offered as her reply, both to attempt and discern whether she truly meant what she was saying as well as to appreciate the subtle steering she was trying to accomplish by mentioning inviting the King, Queen and Prince Faramir along with the Lady Eowyn.

The name dropping caused Silivren to flick her eyes back to Ziran. A small, amused smile slipped across Macardil's features. Then he slowly shifted his attention from his betrothed to his mother. "If the guest list remains small and those four do attend, the wedding may well be discussed even more fervently among Belfalasian nobility than if we were to invite the whole province," he noted. He did not try to sound convincing, because that would only drive Silivren to dig in her heels, he knew. Instead, his tone was matter-of-fact. Objective.

Silivren gave a slow nod. "Perhaps it will," she allowed thoughtfully. "If they should indeed attend."

"There is no guarantee," he nodded. "However, Ziran's preference coincides with my own."

Silivren raised an eyebrow. "It does?" she asked, mildly surprised, because he had spoken in favour of a large wedding years before.

He nodded once more. "It was Mellaurel who wished for a grander affair," he spoke more quietly.

If that was true, and if he had simply chosen to side with Mellaurel before, Silivren wondered if Macardil was now not doing the same thing: following his betrothed's wishes, with no regard to his own. She sipped her tea. Not that it mattered, she supposed, since he was supposed to stay out of it. Supporting his betrothed's wishes was a peculiar way not to interfere with his own. But it would do.
"We could extend an invitation to the King and Queen, and to the Prince and his Lady," Silivren agreed. "If they accept, a smaller affair would indeed be seen as exclusive. Other invitees would be envied. However, if you invite the King and Queen, and Prince Faramir and Lady Eowyn - you cannot forego inviting Prince Imrahil."

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates - After the Joust

Ziran listened quietly, noting first Silivren’s doubt that those she named would deign to attend their wedding, and then Macardil’s matter of fact response. She watched him in turn when he spoke of his preference coinciding with her own and that Mellaurel had been the one to want the grand affair. It fit with what she knew of him now, and that he would have gone for whatever would have made her happiest.

“But of course we can invite Prince Imrahil and his lady. I don’t know her well, but I have met and worked with the Prince. He has always been gracious and courteous, and it would be fitting since he is also your liege in this land.” Ziran smiled at Silivren. “I merely had not mentioned them because it is a greater distance. If we set a date anywhere near the Midwinter Feasts it is highly likely that the others will be present since they almost always plan on attending the Midwinter Ball.” She had hoped to have it earlier in the Autumn, but many would still think a date six months after their engagement to be extremely fast. “Or sooner, if it would give time to travel to and from Dol Amroth with a break in between.”

She took a sip of tea and then mused out loud. “It could easily turn into something that feels quite large to me anyway, but part of my reasoning is that if you invite all the nobility of Dol Amroth who are of your acquaintance, my former soldiers and rangers will feel slighted if they are left out, and at that point most of the city would end up at the gathering. It would be far better to have a smaller ceremony and let the Ball serve as the time where everyone else has the chance to celebrate with us if they wish without us being the main focus of the event.”

Feeling the matter was slightly more settled, although she couldn’t be sure of that, Ziran turned to look at Macardil again. “I have asked Kaylin and Thûllir to stand for my Honor. Do you have anyone that you would want to ask to stand witness from your friends or family?” She knew that he had felt alone and friendless in many ways the past year, yet he had been slowly reestablishing relationships. Perhaps one of them or his cousin? Was this a role bound by traditions or open to choice?

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

Macardil set the bow to the strings of the violin and began playing it. As softly as he may, in order not to miss much of Ziran and Silivren's conversation, in which - although he would never admit it - he was quite interested in its progression as well as its results.

Silivren, meanwhile, found she could not decide whether her future daughter-in-law was being truthful in her proffered reason for not mentioning Prince Imrahil and Lady Lothiriel, or whether Ziran was navigating the conversation with a cunning wit that could rival that of any of the noble ladies of Belfalas. She glanced at Macardil, wondering if he knew which of the two options held true, but he had reverted to playing his music, and Silivren could deduce nothing of his current posture or expression, since he stood half turned away from both of the ladies.

The mention of 'my former soldiers and rangers' threw Silivren off a bit. She knew the woman in front of her as a ranger - a Cúner, as Macardil had mentioned more than once in his (barely hidden) enthusiasm on the matter. What had Silivren missed about Ziranphel's past, or her present? The matron hid it by lifting her tea and sipping it thoughtfully. "Close enough to the Midwinter celebrations to give the guests time to make arrangements and travel, and to ensure the presence of those we have mentioned already," Silivren rephrased, as a way to voice her agreement with that path, "but not so close as to clash with the celebrations themselves. That sounds like an excellent idea. It would not be too soon in order to make the necessary arrangements, since the affair is to be kept rather small."

When Macardil realized Ziran was addressing him, the bow slowly drew to a halt over the strings, but Silivren was the first to reply. "Amarthon would be Macardil's witness," she said, her tone not at all demanding, but rather explanatory. "As the chosen relative to manage the Himhathol estate and represent our House in Macardil's absence."

Macardil nodded. "Amarthon would stand with me," he confirmed with a hint of a smile on his face. "And I do not believe I wish to add a second."

Silivren gave her son a compassionate look. "I am sure he would have," she told him quietly.

With a tilt of his head, Macardil looked at Ziran. "Halberion," he said, offering no more than the name to refer to his oldest and best friend. Ziran knew that Halberion had disappeared near the War's end, presumed dead after the fire at his estate. He returned the bow to the strings. "So. Amarthon," he confirmed. His cousin had always been a positive and reliable presence in his life, after all.

[Karis Ziranphel]

@Arnyn

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates - After the Joust

Ziran was glad to hear that her suggested timeframe met with Silivren’s approval at least, although she didn’t notice any indication from her betrothed as to his thoughts on it one way or another. It did not surprise her that Silivren answered on Macardil’s behalf regarding a witness, but Ziran kept her gaze on Macardil to confirm that was indeed his choice. She knew that he trusted his cousin greatly, and it was a choice that made sense for multiple reasons, but she was still figuring out how all their expectations worked. His nod of confirmation and voiced affirmation was all that she needed, but Silivren’s next interjection made her curious. Halberion. The name that Macardil provided explained why he would not have a second to take his place. She watched him carefully but nodded in return when he picked up his bow to continue playing. “Alright.” Griefs compounded, and she appreciated his acknowledgement that no one else had taken the place of Halberion in his life.

Ziran lifted the fingers of her left hand from the cup and lightly rubbed her thumb against the band of her ring thoughtfully as she listened to him playing softly. The ring Macardil had given her when asking her to marry him was one he said that the Lady of his house always wore, and had been worn by his mother and Mellaurel each in their turn. She treasured it, and yet thought it more a long term promise, as it had been slowly becoming clearer to her that she would most likely not truly be considered the Lady Himhathol even after their wedding. Silivren occupied that role. Not that Ziran really wanted the expected status, but she wasn’t sure how that would play out in their own home if Silivren thought to control every public presentation even in the city where they had formerly not let anyone know of their nobility. She sighed quietly. She didn’t like conflict, but she also felt some boundaries needed to be established and other things explained. She had seen a flicker of something on Silivren’s face earlier when she mentioned her own past, although perhaps that was her imagination. It wasn’t something that had come up between them in their few conversations, and Ziran realized she didn’t know what, if anything, Macardil had shared about her past. Perhaps it would help if she was intentionally more proactive in communication, as all of them had a tendency to keep things close to the chest.

“There are a few of my family that might come if the weather allows for a voyage from Pinnath Gelin at that time of year. They haven’t taken the journey before, as they are ones for home and their responsibilities there. I am the one who left to serve, first for a few years with the Rangers and then as Captain in Minas Tirith for several years. I visited when I could, but my duties made it difficult to take the trip frequently, so we have grown more distant.” Ziran broached the topic shift quietly, wanting to give some background as well as explanation why she wasn’t expecting a large family gathering. She hadn’t had the joys and sorrows of young love that Macardil had, having fully invested in her military career and the challenges of becoming an officer around the same time he was getting married and joining the rangers. For women it was often a choice of either military or family, rarely both, and even more rare when in command. “My experiences in war and captivity were very different than what they knew how to relate to, and I found it difficult to reintegrate into village life when I tried after the war. Thûllir’s parents have served as my proxy family for so many years that they know me better than my closer kin, and I know my father would trust Brennan to stand in his stead if he is unable to be there himself.”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

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

Actually hearing Thûllir saying how they might be able to take a break tomorrow, made Kaylin realize just how much she could use one. Not at all keen on admitting such a thing, especially not after being prepared to demand that he take her along on the scouting mission, she kept the feeling to herself. It did not matter that Thûllir had turned around her oncoming demand to an offer before she'd needed to turn it into an argument . Kaylin was not willing to lose face on this.

Even though they were now finally - possibly - encroaching upon their prey, today's movements were less rushed. Not as tense, somehow - though she wasn't sure whether that was exactly the right way to describe it. It felt a bit more like they were just out in the woods. Being careful, yes, having a specific location in mind, yes. With possible enemies around, sure. But... she could't quite put her finger on it. Perhaps the both of them had simply grown more accustomed to this new way of working together. Perhaps they had simply... found their rhythm. Whatever it was, she enjoyed their treck along the ridge line and through the landcape more than she'd enjoyed the tracking of the previous days.

When the trees grew less dense up ahead, Kaylin felt the need for caution rising. It was clearly the same for Thûllir, for their progress slowed sensitively and they needed no words to explain to each other why it did. She crouched down next to Thûllir, making her own assessment of the situation while he did. He was much more experienced out in nature than she was, however, and she was well aware of that. What he said, made sense to her, and she gave a slow nod. She glanced at Thûllir when he said they would have to be quiet not to spook the animals. Could they even manage not to spook them? Immediately after, she realized they weren't going to pass by watch dogs. These were just horses. And oxen. Kaylin nodded again. Closer, he said. And to her mild surprise, he had referred to the both of them: 'we'll need to get closer'. Not just him. She touched his shoulder, looking at him with the smile she reserved for him and him alone. "How do you want to do this?" she whispered, preferring to err on the side of being quieter than was necessary instead of being louder than was wise. The smile was still there as she continued. "Split up to cover more ground more quickly, and if there is a camp, to perhaps gain a more comprehensive view of their base of operations? Or stay together, for added safety?"

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

"I hope everyone of your family whom you wish to be there, will be there," Silivren said gently. "Though it is understandable if they might not be able to make the journey." Traveling required arrangements to be made, expenses, and it disrupted life's routine. It was not possible for everyone, she knew. Her blue eyes flicked to her son when Ziran spoke of captivity in particular. He had not breathed so much as a word to her of any such experience on his betrothed's part.

"At the least you will have your aunt and uncle there, as well as Thûllir and Kaylin. Macardil will have me, my sister-in-law Astoriel and her husband Nûrdir, their son - Amarthon - and his own wife, Gaernith. So even if none of your relatives who still reside in your original home could manage the journey, the scales will still be rather balanced," she tried to reassure Ziran. From his position a few yards away, Macardil smiled softly. He knew that his mother could be perceived as controlling - but she was much less so than most Belfalasian noble ladies, and he knew her more as she had spoken just now: kind and supportive.

"What about friends, dear?" Silivren asked, her voice a bit more quiet as she continued. "While my son has been a bit less blessed in this regard since... his leave of the Rangers... I know he will wish to invite a few who have shown him good faith of late. We have spoken about this, already. He has told me of his wishes to extend an invitation to the young man named Trevadir, along with a guest of Trevadir's choosing - whether that be his younger brother or a friend would then be Trevadir's choice. Brenior and his family, of course, since the cartographer and Macardil have mended their friendship. A few others who have shown him grace during the events hosted at Lond Col." Silivren paused, resisted a sigh. Still, the list was not very long. Not even if a few more people were to miraculously reconnect with her son upon their return to the White City. She still managed an encouraging smile for Ziran. "What about you?"

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

This might be it. How he would fall. Right here on the ports. But was he worried or scared? No, Abrazimir knew in his heart and mind that he would fall defending Gondor from the evils that imperiled it. And that was sufficient enough for him. His wounded subordinate, for whom Abrazimir was responsible for as his superior, coughed up blood and groaned weakly, clutched under the knight’s arm. Abrazimir held his blade stretched out towards his attackers, four of whom advanced on him, spreading out as much as they could on the quays. He would take as many of them down into the depths as he could and bared his teeth in defiance. A wounded animal could bite very deeply still.

What he couldn’t believe was the response. Here was pirates and smugglers on the docks of Pelargir and yet…where was the local guard, the help, the spirit of camaraderie between the allies of Gondor? There was none coming, it seemed. But another strange boon soon revealed itself, when those aboard the fleeing ship began to call for the return of their men on the docks. Yes, they could slay a knight here and score a great victory. But perhaps someone wiser amongst them knew the response would soon be overwhelming. Help was coming. And soon they themselves would be the ones surrounded by a multitude of foes.

The four attackers exchanged a glance, a word, and then they beat a hurried retreat. Abrazimir neither questioned it nor gave pursuit. He hefted his own comrade and rushed back to his own ship, panting as he struggled to make headway against the crowds and labyrinth-like nature of the docks. The pirate ship was escaping port! He couldn’t let them get away with it. Any second now, he thought Uirchanar would be giving the command to let loose flaming projectiles and other missiles to impede the pirates progress, but no sign or sound of fire action seemed to be taking place. Abrazimir reached the Bregolalph and found it readied for battle…but stationary.

Other men came to take their wounded mariner away. A silent look was all it took to understand the other…wasn’t coming back. They could retrieve his body for proper funeral rites after the battle. ”My lord-“ Uirchanar approached but Abrazimir was already deeply frustrated with the lac of progress against the pirates. Look, they were already making headway for the open water of the Anduin and soon down the Great River out to the sea. And if it was anything like last time, their smaller vessel would easily outpace the larger floating fortress that was the Bregolalph.

Once again, the window for opportunity was narrow. And much of it had been wasted.

”Signal general quarters. Have the oarsmen pull us out. Prep those ballistae for action, now.” Abrazimir snapped off a rush of orders as he paced to the bow of the ship.

”My lord, I must protest. Use of fire action within harbour is forbidden and severely frowned upon.” Uirchanar informed him, following behind.

”Do what I say. The enemy is right there.” Abrazimir hissed, jabbing an accusatory finger in the direction of the fleeing pirate vessel. As the Bregolalph had to pull out of it’s berth, rearwards, they would come to be perpendicular with the fleeing ship. A smaller target, but both the forward and rear battery, upon their elevated platforms, would have a clear shot. And hopefully didn’t strike any of the other vessels or very combustible material laying around the docks.

The drum beat. Oars were extended either side of the ship, rowing in unison to move the ship out from it’s berth and into the open waters of the Pelargir harbour. The pirates were escaping. ”Forward battery ready, milord.” A nearby mariner reported, a jar of pitch loaded into the sling, with a torch nearby ready to ignite. A raised signal flag from the rear bastion reported the same.

Abrazimir nodded. Both ship-mounted trebuchets were aimed and directed at the narrow sliver of pirate ship presented to them, heading fast away from them. A direct hit could immobilize it. And then they could finish it off. Not like before. It couldn’t be like before. ”Loose.” Abrazimir ordered, with Uirchanar repeating the command at parade ground-volume. Both trebuchets were activated, counterweights dropping and the firing arms reeling towards the air, unloading their slings, two flaming jars of pitch hurling towards the fleeing ship. Abrazimir prayed for a hit. May they burn in the fires of justice.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates - After the Joust

It was good to hear Silivren’s sentiments about her family visiting. Ziran’s gaze was drawn back to her from watching the rain drops in the garden as they sent out ripples to clash in the puddles. It was good to hear that they had family that they could count on attending, even if it was a small number that matched her own in the city. She was both glad and curious to hear that they had already discussed what friends Macardil might invite, and she looked over to watch him playing with a slight smile on her lips. So that was how the planning traditionally went? She was indeed glad that he had been able to renew some friendships and form new ones in the past weeks and the months prior after having felt so friendless before.

“Hmm.” Ziran hummed thoughtfully when Silivren turned the question to her in turn. Whom else would she invite besides family? She had a very many acquaintances in the city after having lived there for so many years, but good friends were much fewer in number. By her own criteria of only wanting people they knew well, it whittled the number down even further. “Captain Pele Alarion, whom you met, and Lieutenant Arnyn Dealedwen are the two I know the best after my cousins. Perhaps a few more rangers I work with currently or who served in the guard years ago if they are around and would like to attend, but I admittedly don’t have many close friends among them. I kept myself somewhat apart as an officer. Many of those I knew well have moved on and I didn’t keep track of them.” It hadn’t sat well with some that she had risen through the ranks to captain so swiftly, while others sought friendship for their own gain, and she had become wary despite wanting to always be approachable. “While I have tried to break the habit more recently of keeping myself apart among my fellow rangers, it takes time.”

The numbers could grow, but likely anywhere from twenty-five to fifty could say yes to attending. Ziran chewed on her lower lip slightly in thought before proffering, “Where should we hold it?” If it weren’t so cold at that time of year she might have suggested their place near the orchard, but that was more picturesque in the spring. If it was to be the smaller gathering size they could fit at the house, but it might be better to gather elsewhere, especially if it was larger. “My cousins’ wedding was in the gardens behind the Wayfarers Inn, but perhaps the Tavern where we first had dinner? Or at the Tavern of the Seven Stars? When I had to hold military balls, that was an excellent location, as it was upscale and had space for both feasting and dancing.” Perhaps neither of them were fancy enough? She looked back and forth between Macardil and Silivren. “What do you think?”

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir (16) with Capt. Dev & crew
Early June, 3018 - Pelargir Harbor

Trev let out a slow breath of relief as the knight turned and hurried away, as well as he could 'hurry' while supporting his wounded soldier. Just then, another crewman ran up beside Trev with a crossbow in hand. He grinned as he leveled it at the knight below on the pier. At his back. He couldn't miss from this range. "No, wait," Trev hastily reached out and pushed the weapon downward, frowning. "There's no need... he's leaving."

"Shut up, you stupid kid, it's a perfect shot and I'm taking it." The man shoved Trev, knocking him down. He raised his weapon again, eagerly taking aim yet again.

"Do you want the guards to come after us?" Trev asked, hastily. "We're not even out of the harbor yet.. they could still stop us and we'd be vastly outnumbered," He pointed out, desperately trying to convince him this was a bad idea.

"We killed that other one, and none of the guards cared enough to step in." The guy scoffed, but he did hesitate.

"That.. was a fight. They didn't know what the fight was about," Trev could only guess at why they didn't intervene. "They still thought we were crew from that other ship, and the other guys attacked us, then. The guards probably figured it was personal, or something. But if you do that," He nodded toward the crossbow, "They'll see that as coldblooded murder, and then you'll really see them jump into action. And Dev will be furious at you for stirring them up and getting us all arrested. They wouldn't let us out of here.. and it would be all your fault. Is that what you want?"

The guy scowled, but he muttered a grumbling curse as he lowered his crossbow. "Fine." He seemed annoyed to have to realize that the kid was right. "But this whole thing is your fault too, for leading them to us." He jabbed a finger in Trev's direction. "And don't think we're going to let you forget it."

"Indeed.. we aren't." Dev agreed as he walked up. There was an icy tone to his voice, and his glare was even colder.

Trev, having gotten to his feet by now, turned around. He swallowed.. Dev looked very unhappy.

"As much as I would've liked to see that shot land," Dev looked off toward Abrazimir's departing figure, as the ship slid further and further away from the dock, "it is true, we wouldn't want to provoke the guards any further. We're not in the clear yet," He admitted regretfully. "You," He looked at the crossbowman, "get to work."

As the guy hurried off to obey the captain's order, Dev then rounded on Trev, narrowing his eyes. "I thought I told you to get down below deck?"

"Good thing I didn't listen." Trev replied defiantly. "Else, you'd have a swarm of guards closing in on you about now."

Dev stepped nearer and glared at his son. "If it had not been for you," He retorted. "we would still be loading up those supplies, which we need. Because.. of you." He glared in silent fury. "Don't ever do anything like that again. Bringing them right to me? To my ship!? What were you thinking?!" His voice was a furious hiss, rather than a yell, but it made Trev flinch just the same.

"I..I'm sorry.. I.. they were chasing me, and I didn't know what to do."

"And where were you?" Dev demanded. "You were supposed to be on the dock, helping load the supplies. You knew that you were assigned to that job. Where did you go off to?"

Trev went quiet at that, refusing to tell his father where he had gone.

"Fine. Don't tell me, just get out of here. Now." Dev responded after a moment's silence between them.

"What should I do, swim to shore?" Trev asked sarcastically, though in all honesty, he would be happy to get away from this miserable ship, and return to living on land again. Go back to his family.. the ones who loved him. That's what he wanted more than anything...

"Don't be an idiot, Trev, I'm ashamed enough of you already. You go back there and they'll hang you for sure." Dev snapped. "And for the record," He jabbed Trev in the chest. "You don't give orders to my crew. Dimaethor wouldn't be a problem for us anymore if it weren't for you," He couldn't believe the misfortune this dumb kid brought on him, all the time! "What is wrong with you? Why can't you just.. try to fit in? For once, maybe you could try to make me actually proud of you?"

Trev didn't answer. His gaze had diverted, and while he heard what his father said, and it certainly stung him deeply, he was now staring past Dev. He was watching the big war ship as it eased out of the harbor behind them. Were they... surely they weren't.. but they were! "Dad.."

"Don't..." Dev cringed at the sound of that title he so hated. "How many times have I told you-"

"DAD!" Trev yelled, grabbing Dev's shoulder and pushed him down swiftly as the fiery missile zoomed past, right where they had just been standing. They were firing stuff at them.. just like before!

Startled to realize how closely he had come to being hit, Dev stared after it for a few seconds, then jumped up. "We'll talk about this later," He promised, ominously, then ran toward the helm, yelling out orders to his crew to do anything possible to speed up their progress getting back out into the open waters.

Trev remained still for a moment where he lay sprawled on the deck, a little stunned by what had just happened. Then he got up and looked toward the enemy ship. Were they going to fire another shot at them? Realizing that it didn't matter to them whose side he was on, that they were going to shoot at the whole ship regardless.. Trev figured it would be in his own best interest to help get the ship going, quickly. The breeze was in their favor, and yet there was still at least one sail which remained furled. The other crew were busy with other things and hadn't yet gotten to it. Trev hurriedly scaled up one of the masts and got to work trying to free it from its binding, so it could aid in their speedy exodus from the harbor.

[Karis Ziranphel]

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

“Hmm.” He hummed briefly in response to indicate that he had heard, and smiled back at her for a long moment before glancing back down the hillside. While he felt the urge to get close, today was about making initial confirmation without contact. It would likely be better to go take a look from the top of the cliff and back-track if needed.

Thûllir lifted his hand to cover Kaylin’s where it rested on his shoulder and then looked over at her. “I think we should stick together for now. You are right that we need a comprehensive view of their base, but that might be gained more easily from the high ground to our right. We’ll see what we can, and if we need to, we can backtrack and investigate close-up. That likely will need to be done at some point, but let’s start with this.” He tipped his head to kiss her fingers and then rose to a slight croutch. “Come.”

Moving slowly and cautiously, they picked their way along onto the shallower slope, stepping on solid stones and trying to move quietly across the leaves for another quarter mile. A couple of the horses lifted their heads at the motion, but after assessing that they weren’t coming closer, lowered them to graze once more. Not wanting to silhouette themselves against the forest at the top of the cliff, Thûllir motioned to Kaylin to lower when they got within several yards of the edge. He went into a low croutch for a short distance and then lowered to his hands to ease forward until he could lay down on his belly and peer over the edge at the view that opened up below. Here the rising ground from the valley plains had come up and met the narrow valley that had been cut over centuries by a larger stream that flowed down the mountain, bringing water to the animals that grazed and then on to the huts that nestled on either side near the mouth of the valley and directly below the cliff upon which they lay. Thûllir breathed out in both confirmation and slight disbelief. They had found some sort of outpost hidden away here, but was it definitely their quarry?

[Lantaelen]

@Rillewen

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

”Hit, hit!” The scout in the raven’s nest high above the ship shouted down to them, drawing a small cheer from the crew of the Bregolalph. Abrazimir and his other chief subordinates, standing at the bow, strained to see. Yes, there was a small fire building on the rearward side of the escaping pirate ship but…not enough. Not the sort of direct hit Abrazimir would have preferred. The pirates could manage that fire. It would not be enough to immobilize them or better…sink them. But a hit was a hit. It felt good to hit back finally. To hit anything.

The second shot fell short, vanishing into the deep waters of the Pelargir port with a sizzle and a puff of smoke. It was short by a matter of feet from hitting a parked, friendly vessel…

”Reload!” Abrazimir barked, raising his arm to signal the process. In trying to depart, their ship would have to turn though, allowing only the bow turret to face the enemy and have a chance at a direct hit. A near-miss would be harmless, but any malfunction in the aim, which was known to happen, could send their fiery projectile right into an allied ship. Possibly provoke the sort of fire Abrazimir hoped would ignite on the pirate vessel instead on a ship bearing the flag of Gondor. But the risk was worth it. He was blinded by his ambition and fury in this moment. The pirates had the nerve to sneak into the ancient port of Gondor and steal from right under their noses? This could not be suffered or permitted. Not with impunity.

”My lord!” Uirchanar cried out. ”The Port Authority is flagging us to stand down!” He reported urgently, coming to one side of Abrazimir.

”Both engines loaded and ready to ignore, milord.” A nearby engineer reported. ”The window for firing opportunity on the rearward turret is decreasing with every second too, milord.” He also added, as the ship began to turn, to follow after the fleeing pirates, the rear turret would become useless as it could not shoot forward without striking their own mast and sails. Abrazimir had to give the order now if he wanted the increased chance of another hit with both ship-mounted trebuchets. Eight…seven…six…

”My lord, if you continue to engage, the Port Authority might flag us as enemies.” Uirchanar urged Abrazimir, pointing to a nearby battlement that stretched somewhat into the port waters. Men could be seen there, along with their own ballista gearing for action. They might deem both the pirates and the Bregolalph as seditious elements and shoot upon them, incapacitating or even sinking the ships. The pirates may still escape, albeit more wounded. But Abrazimir and his vessel were still very much in the thick of it. And he could see the flags trying to signal them, the same he had tried to initially flag the pirate ship down long ago in open waters. Stand down immediately. Anchor at once.

…five…four…three… The pirates sails were unfurling, all of them now, with the downward winds of the Anduin picking up to speed them away. …two… Abrazimir sighed. ”Stand down.” He said, almost in a whisper, because he hated to say it. ”Stand down!” Uirchanar repeated at a louder volume, with the torchbearers who were about to ignite the second volley of pitch-filled jars stepping away. There would be no more fire action in port, illegal as it was. They were going to want to talk to him. Abrazimir might be the son of a noble in Dol Amroth. In Pelargir and Lebennin, he was just another officer. Clenching his fist, he slammed it down on the wooden railing of the ship.

”There’ll be next time, my lord.” Uirchanar tried to assure him. But it was hard to believe that. Turning away, he went down to midship, there to await them docking once again, and to meet with whatever consequences the local authorities would slap on him. For nearly burning down the chief port of Pelargir, on the eve of the Big Push coming from the east, it was certainly not going to be light. But he would never forget. And never let it go. Not the Captain, not the men who killed his subordinate and wounded another, not…the young man who weaseled away from them. Not a single one will go unanswered, this he promised himself.

---

Aftermath of the Pelargir Incident

”How could you have done this?”

The voice of Lord Zâinabên Dimaethor boomed in the great hall of his familial estate, standing before his great chair that served as his token of office here in these lands. The room could easily fill half a hundred men and women at ease, if ever there were that many subordinates of suitable rank to fill the chamber. Often only on great banquets or feasts was such a thing ever done here. But for now, it served as the functionary court and hall of Lord Dimaethor, where he dictated the ambitions and determinations of his family in the years to come. And only his family was present today.

Lady Orelnith, their daughters Lady Zorzimril and Lady Azraindil…and of course, the son and heir, Abrazimir Dimaethor, who was currently under the most severe and unhappy scrutiny of his father.

In the hands of Lord Zâinabên was a letter, of a most unfortunate telling, direct from a captain of Pelargir, detailing the absurd and highly dangerous action of Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor. After a fierce glare at his son, Lord Zâinabên reread a particular section of the damning letter, speaking as always in sindarin, the native tongue of the Dimaethors even in this late era of Gondor. ”…without heed, the Captain of the aforementioned ship, at great risk and peril to the Garth of Royal Ships, so recklessly engaged in fire action against suspected smugglers. No warning or notice was given to the local guards and the costs of such potential danger would have been without equal…” Lord Zâinabên had to stop reading again as he shook with fury.

He stepped down from the dais that held his chair and came to stand before Abrazimir, who stood to the right of the elevated platform. The three women, mother and two daughters, stood across, bearing witness to this dressing down. ”I assume you have a very good reason for doing what you did.” He challenged his son.

”Of course I do.” Abrazimir answered calmly. He truly believed what he had done was for the betterment of his people. And the risk…was maybe overblown. And maybe after the heat of his initial anger had died down, maybe a little understandable. ”The honour and dignity of this House and this Kingdom.” He concluded.

”By endangering the foremost military port of Gondor? This is what you call dignity?” Lord Zâinabên snapped at him, shaking his head. ”Count yourself fortunate the Pelargir authorities are only demanding a hefty fine for your reckless and brash issue. Burning down the Royal Garth…three millennia of proud history just thrown aside.”

”It could have been worse.” Lady Orelnith put in, rare and uncharacteristic of her to speak on military matters, especially when her husband was…in a mood. But she had to say something for her darling son.

”How could it have been worse?” Lord Zâinabên rounded on his wife, his voice booming, to the degree that Lady Azraindil, who was not even in any sort of fault here, flinched a little. But Lady Orelnith knew her husband’s mood.

”The sigh of a woman carries further than the roar of a lion. Be content your son only engaged in over-zealotry against the enemies of Gondor. And not in any peril of his reputation. The things that take place on those docks…” She trailed off, making even Abrazimir give her an incredulous look at the excuse made for him, but it seemed to work with Lord Zâinabên. Oh yes his son was a trouble maker but at least he wasn’t a deviant like many sailors could be. He rounded back on his son.

First the two treks to Umbar, and the loss of an entire vessel, and now this, in Pelargir. Lord Zâinabên folded his hands behind his back and looked his son in the eye. ”This will be the last time you make a decision for this family, while this War lasts.” He said and then dismissed the children with a gesture. It was not a real punishment anyways. The call for aid and reinforcements to the Crossings of the Great River and to the White City was rumoured to be put out. The Prince would lead a detachment himself to the front lines. Abrazimir had to be in that detachment. Not on the seas chasing ghosts in the fog. Real enemies, who were about to swarm out of the east without mercy.

”I am sorry. I will endeavour to keep my energies focused.” Abrazimir bowed and turned to depart, keeping his head lowered with feigned shame, but keeping in his heart…his desire for revenge.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

Kaylin
Dor-En-Ernil - Summer's end

His choice did not surprise her. Her eyes flicked to the right when he spoke of the high ground there, and Kaylin nodded slowly at his words. This was his expertise. There was no reason for her to question it, and she had no better suggestions. A warm smile flickered over her face when he pressed his lips against her fingers. The gesture was quick but sweet, and while Thûllir might not have thought twice about it, Kaylin loved those little moments and filed them away in a special place in her heart.

From the higher vantage point, she followed him into the low crouch and mimicked the way he used his hands to get close to the edge herself. Her eyes widened upon seeing the huts below. What did this mean, though? They couldn't just assume that the people who lived here were the same who attacked the supply mission... Her grey-blue eyes found Thûllir's face. "How do we find out whether all this is them?" she asked him. They would have to get much closer than this to find out, right?

[Rillewen]

@Lantaelen

Trevadir (16) with Capt. Dev & crew
Early June, 3018 - Pelargir Harbor

The rope was being difficult, and below, Trev could see a little fire starting to burn, where the missile had struck the deck after missing him and Dev. He was momentarily torn between climbing back down to deal with the fire, or finishing what he was doing here, but then he saw another crewman running over with a bucket of water. He reached out a little further, one leg hooked around the yardarm as he strained to reach one of the clewlines which had apparently become caught on something.

The second projectile came toward them, barely missing the rigging of the pirate ship and landed in the water, just short of a Gondorian ship next to them. However, though it may not have been noticeable from the ship who had shot at them.. the fiery missile came very close to hitting Trev, in fact.. he felt the heat of it as the thing passed within an inch of his arm, and he could smell the burning oil fumes as the missile whizzed right by him. A second later, he saw that his sleeve was on fire, and a little yelp of fright escaped him. In his haste to try and slap the burning sleeve and put it out, his hand slipped from the grip he had on the rigging. Next thing he knew, he was hanging precariously from the yardarm with one leg, with a small flame beginning to devour his sleeve.

His primary thoughts in that moment were getting the fire put out, keeping the flames away from the rigging, and keeping his knee hooked over the pole. Thankfully, he had some experience when it came to flames.. thanks to Ryn, who used to enjoy playing with fire. He swiftly managed to smother the portion of sleeve that had caught fire, and breathed out a sigh of relief once he was sure it was out. Looking around, he made sure there were no flames in the rigging or sails, and then swung himself up carefully to catch the rigging above him. It took a couple of tries before he managed, and then he managed to pull himself up again. After letting out a slow breath of relief, he reached out again and unhooked the clewline that had gotten looped around the end of the yardarm, somehow.

In moments, the sail was properly unfurled, caught in the wind, and tugged the ship forward more rapidly than before. Trev carefully climbed down, feeling a tiny bit shaky, but they were already moving into open water now. The big warship would have a much slower time maneuvering through the port to come after them. He sank back against the cabin wall, feeling like he needed a moment to recover from that frightful situation.

---

Aftermath of the Pelargir Incident... on the pirate ship

”How could you have done this?”

Dev's voice was low, but no less intimidating than if he had got in Trev's face and yelled.

Trev flinched slightly but kept his gaze determinedly downward.

"None of this would have happened if you had done what you were supposed to do." Dev paced the interior of the captain's cabin, taking a slow breath in, and another out. "You should have been at the pier, loading crates into the hold, just as you were ordered to do. We could have taken all of those supplies, but no.. we only got about half. And now, we've barely got enough to last us until the Umbarian port." He spun to face Trev. "Someone saw you run off the moment we hit port. Where did you go?" He demanded.

Trev kept his eyes sullenly on the floor. Renia, and the letters they exchanged in secret, were one of the few things he could enjoy without his father intruding and ruining it somehow. He did not want to let him know about her.

"Why didn't you help load the supplies, Trev?!" Dev asked, exasperated.

At this, Trev's dark brown eyes raised up to look at him. He really had to ask? "You know I refuse to help you steal from Gondor." He glared at the pirate captain in defiance.

Dev looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He moved a step closer to Trev. "You keep on defying orders, not just from me.. but also the other officers on this ship.. and you're going to find that life can become very unpleasant, Trevadir." He informed his son in a low, menacing tone. "So, unless you want that," He pointed a finger at his face warningly. "you'd better stop this defiance, alright? Just so you know, if you weren't my son, I'd have done away with you a long time ago."

Trev clenched his jaw, determinedly wearing a sullen, defiant expression, though at this point it was more to hide the other emotions crashing through his heart. He gripped the edges of the seat he was in, on either side of his legs, until his knuckles were white. But he maintained a stony silence.

"None of the authorities are going to give you a chance, you know that right? No matter how 'honorable' you pretend to be, all they're ever going to see is a scoundrel pirate boy. Just like they did, today." He rounded on Trev, bringing up the most recent example that coincidentally, proved his point. "So when are you going to just.. give up already? You're not here to wage your own little war against us, Trev, you're one of us." He tried to remind him, getting quite frustrated by his son's obstinance. "The sooner you accept that fact, the better it'll be for everyone. And those so-called noble knights? They don't care if you think yourself our enemy or not, or hadn't you noticed?" He waved an arm toward the direction of the harbor. "That missile would have killed you and me both today, and the knight wouldn't have been the least bit sorry.. Don't you understand that?" He huffed out a frustrated sigh and turned away, pacing to the other side of the room as he continued.

"You need to grow up, Trev, and stop acting like some stupid kid, living in a fantasy. Things aren't going to magically turn out alright just because you want them to. Life isn't about wonder and excitement and adventures, Trev. It's about surviving, and getting ahead. No matter what it takes to achieve that, can't you understand that?" He sighed. "The more you resist it, the harder it'll be, alright? The more enemies you make here, the harder you make this on yourself. All those idiotic ideas about 'moral values' that they filled your head with back there in that city.. all that means nothing out here in the real world. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be." He came over, leaning forward as he placed a hand on Trev's shoulder, looking him in the eye. "The longer you cling to all of that narrow-minded claptrap about 'right and wrong', the more disappointed you'll be later when you find out how meaningless it all is. You can't get so caught up with that nonsense, Trev."

"Are you done?" Trev asked quietly, in a sullen tone, making a supreme effort to sound merely.. bored of the lecture, rather than silently raging his head, against everything Dev was saying.

"No, I'm not." Dev scowled and lowered his hand from Trev's shoulder. Instead, he rested his hands on the arms of the chair, one on either side of Trev. Almost as if trapping him in the chair. "I want you to promise me that there won't be any more.. insubordination and defiance." Dev insisted, narrowing his eyes. "That you'll stop pulling these ridiculous stunts, and do exactly as you're told, from now on." He scowled at Trev and remained like that. Waiting.

Dark brown eyes rose up to meet lighter brown, and both glared in silence at the other. A battle of wills began between the two, stretching on for several minutes in silence. If anyone had been observing, they might have assumed that the son had inherited his stubbornness from the father. But only if they had never met the mother. Anyone who had known Ôlthel would be aware of how willful and obstinate she could be when she wanted to be. She was not there to speak up and defend her son from his domineering father, but he had a part of her always in his heart, ingrained into his personality. Grandma had always told him he was a great deal like his mother, in that regard.

At last, Trev felt that he had gotten his emotions well enough under control to speak. "I refuse.. to make a promise.. which I cannot keep." He growled through clenched teeth, finally. He let out a slow, measured breath through as he struggled to maintain what little level of control he had gained over his emotions, but inside, he felt as if he might just drown in despair and hopelessness. Giving that defiant response had taken a great deal of effort. There was a moment of further silence. He wasn't sure if he imagined an incredulous look on Dev's face; it was gone before he could be sure.

Dev shook his head slowly as he straightened. "Then you're foolish." He snapped. "And a severe disappointment to me. One of these days you're going to find out that this stupid fantasy you have about being a 'good guy' and striving to oppose me.. when I tried to help you.. was a mistake." He gave Trev a scowling glance. "Those Valar you think so much about, they aren't going to help you, boy. They don't care, even if they exist at all. I wouldn't advise putting your faith in them," He scoffed. "There's only one we even have any proof that he exists." He added. "Now. Quit sulking, and there better not be any more defiance from you, got that?" He frowned. "And, when we get to Umbar.. I've got a message for you to take to the temple."

Trev stood up, feeling a surge of panic rise in his chest, but he managed to keep a scowl on his face instead of a look of fear. "Deliver it yourself," He retorted. "I told you I'm not going back there!"

Dev paused and looked at him, carefully getting his own temper under control. He gave a small, sly smile. "Well. We'll see about that." He waved toward the door in dismissal. "Any more disobedience, son, and you'll find out just how much worse things can get for you." He warned. "Keep that in mind."

Trev took in a slow, deep breath, and decided it would be best to just pretend to go along with him.. for now. Giving a small, insincere nod, he kept his head down as he left the cabin, but inside he felt anger burning inside, and he wanted to lash out and retaliate for the harsh and hurtful things he had said. As he strode briskly down the length of the deck, he kept his expression as blank as he could make it, but kept in his heart…a desire for revenge.

(couldn't resist starting and ending that the same way you did, for a nice comparison lol)

[Rillewen]

Trevadir (16)
Early June, 3018 - Out at sea, aboard the pirate ship
About an hour later...

The storm inside of him had raged until at last it subsided somewhat. Still, a part of him did not want to let the anger fade entirely. After all of his tears were spent, Trev sat up, wiping his eyes. He had closeted himself up in the hold, among all the cargo of barrels and crates and things. But he did not sit in the midst of the cargo; rather, he was hidden away in the secret compartment he had discovered, a couple of months ago. He assumed that Dev and the others knew about it, but they didn't seem to use it, as far as he knew.

What he did not know, was that this hide-away was primarily used to smuggle things in or out of ports, or occasionally used for times when an inspection was inevitable, and certain people or items needed to be hidden. But other than that, Dev and the others did not acknowledge the existence of such a hiding spot. In fact, there were more than one such place, but Trev had so far only found this one.

By pressing a certain spot on the wall, the panel of the ship would give away a little bit, just enough to curl fingers around the edge of the panel beside it, and thereby open up the hidden door which led to the hidden compartment. Trev had hidden himself away in there, while he cried and released his inner storm of emotions where none could hear but him. Now, in stillness that followed, he sat in the darkness with knees hugged to his chest, quietly wiping the damp eyes and sniffling to try and control the running sinuses. He mustn't look as if he had been crying, before he could return to face the rest of the crew, for he didn't think he could endure the ridicule that would ensue, otherwise.

Meanwhile, he was struggling with his thoughts. Maybe Dev was right.. he was miserable and it seemed that everything he did to try and maintain his own moral standard only seemed to make the crew hate him more. They would sometimes corner him and treat him as a punching bag. Or, they would purposely do things to make his tasks harder. Things might be easier if he just relented.. a little bit. Right? But could he do that? He bit his lip as he considered this, and let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his head against the wall. This was all so hard. And unfair. And.. what's the difference, if he would likely be killed as a pirate, anyway?

He prayed so often to the Valar to help him.. especially Ulmo, and Nienna, the Vala of mercy. And nothing had changed about his situation, though it had been over a year now. He put his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and let out a shaky breath. He considered giving a prayer now, but then thought.. what's the point? Did they even listen to him? He was starting to feel as if he was falling into a figurative chasm, with no one there to even toss him a rope so he might pull himself back out. Where were his friends when he needed them?

That thought led him to thinking about his friends. First Nal, then Cali, Iole, and Ryn. And then.. Renia. Renia.. he blinked to clear the tears that had begun brimming up again. He suddenly remembered that he had not yet read her letter! Reaching out with both hands, he felt around in the darkness to locate the lantern he knew was stashed away in there. Finding it, as well as the fire kit, he soon had a light going. He hung the lantern on a hook nearby, and pulled out the rolled-up message from where he had stowed it earlier. Then, settling back again, he unrolled the paper and smoothed it out on his lap.



'Dear Trev,
I miss you! And it looks like I missed you, also. Well, I hope you get this, anyway. It'd be a shame if you didn't. I'm not sure where we're heading next, but hopefully at some point, we'll bump into each other again. Do you miss me, too? I was really hoping to find you here, when we pulled into Pelargir. I kept thinking about how much fun it was, when we ran around in that warehouse place, and playing hide and seek to keep from getting in trouble. And how you fought that guy off with an umbrella! That was great!

I've been learning how to use a couple of weapons, myself. You inspired me, I guess. I've been trying to decide which sort I like best. Anyway, speaking of inspiration, I wrote a poem for you. I was thinking about you the other day, and I don't know... It might not be any good, but I do hope you like it. And that it's not too bad. So, here it is;

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
Get your fill to eat, but keep another hunger,
May you never take anything for granted,
Valar forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you always enjoy the sight of the ocean,
And if one door closes, I hope another opens,
Don't forget to give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance!

I hope you never fear to face what's in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance,
Living might mean taking a few chances, but they're worth taking,
Loving might seem like a mistake, but it's worth making,
Don't let some hard heart Tyrant leave you bitter,
When you come close to selling out, reconsider.
And remember to give the stars and sky more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance!

I know, it could use some work. Feel free to change the wording as you see fit, and make it better. You're a lot better at this sort of thing than I am. But, I thought it might be neat if you wanted to put music to it, and then next time I see you, you can teach me the tune that you came up with. Maybe I could sing while you play? What do you think? Hope to hear from you again soon, or better yet, see you soon.
Your friend, Renia

Ps, maybe we should use code names? In case of port authorities or anyone else finding our messages or something. Just a thought. Bye!'



The words that Trev read on the paper brought fresh tears welling up in his eyes, but of a different sort. His throat grew tight. It was.. so impactful, what he had just read. As if she had somehow known exactly what he would need to read, to find comfort and new resolve. Yes, he might tweak a sentence here or there, but otherwise he thought the message itself was perfect. He brought the letter up to his chest and hugged it, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath in. He thought back, with a faint smile, to that day he and Renia had danced briefly on the beach, in those ridiculous borrowed clothes.

After a minute, he dried his eyes with his sleeve and took out his notebook. He would cherish this letter, but he also wanted to copy the poem into his book. And then, he would work out how to make the lines flow a little more smoothly, while keeping the same message and meaning. She had presented him with the sort of challenge he most enjoyed; creating a tune and melody that would fit perfectly with these words, to make it into a song.

That ought to be enough to keep him distracted from his troubles for a little while, and once he had perfected the song, he could sing it to himself, in his mind if not out loud, and play the tune so that he could memorize it before he saw her next. Something to keep him occupied until he saw her again, anyway. He wanted to have perfected it by then. That thought brought a little smile to his face as he got to work on it.

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

Silivren looked pensive. "No friends outside of the military?" she asked, and the question came from a place of concern. That did not seem healthy... But Ziran would not have been able to control where people went, after the war had ended. Silivren understood that well enough. At least Ziran's own limited number of friends would not make it painfully clear how many friendships her son had lost in the past year.
"We can make a list on the morrow," Silivren suggested. "And we can add or remove people as need be after our return to the White City, of course. We cannot send the invitations, after all, until we have made the necessary arrangements for the location, catering and music."

When Ziran broached the question of where, Silivren sipped her tea and held her silence. She was not here to push her own preference. Mainly, she was here to assist where there was need, and to make sure the wedding would be held in an acceptable way to anyone who may be attending. Silivren was well aware that Macardil did not freely share his noble birth with those in Minas Tirith. The City had always been his escape, and she saw to reason to change that. But if they were holding the wedding in the city - which he had agreed to - then he hopefully did realize that the guests would be hearing his last name. And would be confronted with some degree of... wealth. Whether the wedding was small or not.

"The Tavern of the Seven Stars might be on the large side for a smaller gathering," Silivren offered. "Though they could always set up partitions..."

Macardil stopped playing the violin again, glancing over his shoulder. "Partitions would draw attention to the usually larger space," he said quietly, much preferring not to use the Seven Stars.

"That is true," Silivren pondered, and moved on to the other options Ziran had offered. "Gardens would be too cold. And the Wayfarers... I am not familiar with how it looks on the inside..." But it did not seem exactly adequate. "The Bay of Belfalas might be the best option," she mused thoughtfully, not having to think twice about the place where Macardil and Ziran had had their first dinner together.

"It would be easy to arrange," Macardil offered, approaching again and reclaiming his seat next to Ziran. "Given our relationship with the owner."
Silivren nodded slowly. "And the food is excellent. With the right decorations... the right music... the right tableware..."

Macardil smiled softly as he looked at Ziran. "It would be rather fitting," his low voice rumbled quietly.

[Karis Ziranphel]

Karis Ziranphel
Himhathol Estates - After the Joust

Ziran looked over as Macardil’s music came to a halt and he spoke up about partitions not being ideal, and smiled quietly. She agreed on that point. It was a beautiful venue, but more suited to the previously considered large gathering and not a small one. She was glad he did not seem inclined to hold it there. Her smile broadened when she tuned back in to hear Silivren commenting on the gardens, but she partially hid it behind the mug of tea. She hadn’t had any inclination that the Wayfarer’s would be suitable despite her friendliness with Hildy and Alf, and had no desire for an outdoor wedding in the cold. Stark bare branches didn’t shout cozy romance or strong relationship, but neither did she want to wait for the budding spring which would have been more appropriate for such a setting. “Mhmm.” She responded after taking a sip when the Bay of Belfalas was mentioned. That had been her first suggestion, but it amused her that Silivren had come around to it last, even as she noted her good recall of the location.

She glanced up as Macardil approached, and watched him as he took his seat beside her, her gaze resting on him warmly. Ziran remembered fondly the proprietor taking care of them each of the times they had visited that establishment, and treasured that he had been a stout friend to Macardil through many trials. She was only half-listening to Silivren by then, recalling their first night at the Bay of Belfalas and the conversations they had shared. She’d only had a faint inkling and a hope then that they might find their way to such a day. Her smile met Macardil’s in answer, and she unwrapped one hand from her cup to reach out for him. “Aye.” Her voice was soft. “It would be fitting to go back to that beginning as we mark a new one.”

[Arnyn]

@Karis Ziranphel

|
Silivren Himhathol | Macardil Himhathol
Himhathol Estates - After the joust

He took her hand in his, unstalled by any form of hesitation. "It would."

Silivren watched the couple in front of her with a knowing smile. "Very well." She rose from her chair slowly. "There are yet preparations to be made for Astoriel and Nurdir's visit." Her sister and her husband would be arriving on the morrow, to stay with them for a few days. She raised a hand when Macardil looked up at her, ready to offer to take the task off her hands. "I think you and Ziran have different matters to discuss, my son," Silivren hinted, giving them the unspoken permission to take the rest of the wedding into their own hands. Macardil took note of it - he knew her well enough not to be fooled by the vagueness. Looking at his mother with a grateful and gentle smile, he gave her an appreciative nod.

"Do not forget we are meeting with Amarthon and Gaernith for the midday meal," Silivren reminded the two. They had had their dinners and breakfasts separately last night and this morning, to accommodate for everyone's varying schedules. However, with Amarthon in charge of the Himhathol's estates in Macardil's absence, this is where the man and his wife lived, after all. Silivren took her leave of the drawing room, then. Marion stayed behind, however, not abandoning her quiet position by the door to the hallway.

"Turgil will be most happy to accommodate us," Macardil said quietly, returning his full attention to his betrothed. The owner of the Bay was a hopeless romantic, after all, and that was no secret. "Which reminds me, I also wish to invite him, his wife and his children." He lifted Ziran's hand to his lips to brush a kiss against it, and rose to his feet although he did not let go of her hand with his own. "Do you want to give one of the instruments a try, Ziran? Will you play with me?" A little amusement had crept into his tone.

[Ercassie]

Unexpected Company – Part 1.
Private (Behind the Scenes) RP

Lady Sirdis Azrubêl, on the morning of the Dimaethor event’s commencement.
Attended by Ethiriel. Grounds of Castle Azrubêl, Lond Côl, Dor-en-Ernil.

To surmount the gentle rise of the majestic hilltop, was a path which carried guests along a long line of distraction. Any who were predisposed or idle enough of an hour might wander from the sun-baked paving and dip into small fragrant gardens at irregular intervals about the winding ascent of the mound. The very last of these, reigning in it’s high perch near the Castle of House Azrubel itself .. was held in the highest regard, and visited most often. By both guests and residents alike. For here were the lost lords and ladies of that lineage remembered, in the years that succeeded their departures from the true world. Those whose bodies were beyond recall from where their lives had come to end. No grave or crypt was the final stamp of their having ever existed. Instead a limestone collective of full-sized, life-like effigies were poised in an ever growing crowd. Their number and remarkable resemblance to the lost inspiration were a fascination and a grief. From the bold adventurers of old, lost far at sea, to those more recent, plunged into a watery depth in their own harbour. Thirty years now passed.


On the same morn that the great Dimaethor event commenced, across the other side of the estuary, a single figure moved amidst the stones. The Lady Sirdis, robbed almost of breath as those who watched on, wordless, when she came before the newest, recently completed statue of her late husband. Her second late husband. Lost at sea, not unlike countless others of his family. But the last of them all, at least to date.

By now she wore her loss in the wan hue of her skin, the quiet of her eyes. Twice widowed, well rehearsed. And yet her first love was not immortalised here with these others, for he had not been a lord, not a member of the noble household. His name was lovingly etched into a plaque near to the feet of the Lord's likeness whom he had long served and died beside. Oftentimes the Lady had felt it unfair, the vast difference afforded the two men, in death, who were scarcely apart from one another for the greater part of their lives. But now that she was faced with the unmoving eyes of Edhelmir, she knew a relief that she had not to turn and find Gaerindil at hand as well. A heart could only break for one man at a time or it would never beat again.


“My Lady,” the words stirred the bereaved from her woeful trance, and yet the speaker held position, some feet off, pretending to ignore how Sirdis swept hands about brown eyes, to dispatch the treacherous tears of emotion. “They are all but ready to depart. For the Great Event,” the summons was delivered, without reproach, or tone suggesting that the noblewoman rush. With a last sniff, Sirdis draped one hand like rainfall down the length of Edhelmir’s memorial. Then she turned, and found the young girl, daubed in house colours, of course, awaiting to be of service. As if there was any real difference the poor young thing could make to the day which was unfolding, unwelcome. The last thing Sirdis wished was to suffer a crowd, or broker a series of smiles. Their recent guest, the new revealed masterpiece at hand, .. it had brought it all back. Yet such things were expected. Eressild would expect it, if all the rest of the world did not.

“Thank you, Ethiriel,” the lady pressed her lips together carefully, as though they might crumble like dead leaves upon contact. “Is Lord Emeredir wanting for anything before the carriage leaves ?”

“The Lady Eressild has seen all to completion,” the servant confirmed. Of course she had, the lady refrained from a visible sigh, and not because the girl had now dipped into a repeat of the curtsy which she had performed, unnoticed, on her arrival. “My lady,” the girl added, amiably. Another unprompting reminder, as was the short period of waiting that then followed.


“And Hir Lindesul," Sirdis persisted. "Is he intending to accompany our party, do you know ?” she wondered, whether she might at least thank the sculptor for his attention to detail. “He seemed rather non committal on the subject last night.”

“My Lady, he has this very morning departed, independently,” Ethiriel answered, a little nervously. Was that .. wrong ? Was she supposed to have informed the lady as soon as the Elf had left ? But then, no one had known his intention until they found his bed still made, thus unslept in, with the break of day. The ladies of the House had not been from their own sleep yet at that hour. Sirdis was roused though by the girl’s concern and was quick to console her.

“It is my fault. I ought to have pressed him last night. But we can not have him depart our home without due thanks for all his effort, now can we ?” the lady asked, and the girl shook her head even as she wondered if she was meant to agree. “Please see that my horse is readied, will you ? I shall need to change.”


Ethiriel was left a moment, in blinking confusion whether she ought rush first to order the horse, or help the lady now dress for a ride, but she certainly knew better than to point out that the rest of the House party would be looking to head across the river, in the already prepared carriage. Thankfully the Lady Sirdis did not seem any more sure of what she ought to be about this fine, and meticulously scheduled morning. So with a belated curtsy to respect each of the closest stone monuments, the girl rushed after her mistress, wondering now if she had done right, by begging her grandmother to let her train for the role.

[Hanasian]

#2 Private

(Summary of the Kin Strife and Prologue to this story starts here)


Kin Strife of Gondor ~ The Reign of King Castamir
As told by

Halvarin and Amarwen.

Historical - Gondor - Years 1432-1448 of the Third Age


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The Sack of Edhellond
27 Súlimë 1437​ III

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How was this possible, Amarwen wondered. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been brushed until its ebony lengths glowed and then set into a high braid that fell over one shoulder to her waist. She had donned Edhellond's colours in a dress of rich gold velvet but Amarwen saw none of this. Her thoughts were scattered, elsewhere.

They had burned Osgiliath. The glorious Dome of Stars cracked and charred. The Master Stone drowned in the Anduin. Her hands closed into fists as a fierce wave of satisfaction swept through her. At least the usurper would not have the Palantir amongst his ill-gotten spoils. As her thoughts turned to the sacking of the city, and the slaughter of the people unable to flee or hide, her satisfaction curdled. Soldiers going door to door, street to street, hunting civilians down. In the nation's capitol was a shock in itself. That it had been done to them by their own people...that was an anathema to Amarwen.

And where was Therald her father? Alive? Dead? Prisoner and if so for how long? He'd been with Eldacar when the siege of Osgiliath had begun and there had been no word of his fate now that the city had fallen. Her father, the king and his sons? Where were they all in this brutal carnage? Dead? Hiding? Prisoner? No one knew in this chaos. A chill ran through her blood and she shivered as a tap sounded at her door. In the mirror, Amarwen saw her mother slip through her door and so she swept her fear and her sorrow into a firm grip. For her mother's sake. Since the tidings of Osgiliath's fall had reached them in Edhellond, her mother had neither slept nor ate. Alenna, the Lady of Edhellond was pale as a ghost and in her eyes was dreadful fear. Amarwen rose and crossed her bedroom to take her mother in her arms. This woman had always been Amarwen's haven in a storm. Now, it fell to her to be the same.

Alenna leaned into Amarwen's embrace for a long moment and then collected herself up. She quivered like a leaf but her jaw was clenched. She, too, had dressed formally to receive the men below. She had added her circlet, a clear symbol that she too was descended from a line of kings. Perhaps Hyarmendacil's blood would be enough to give those waiting below pause for thought. Perhaps. If they were too much the usurper's creatures then it was unlikely. Such men cared not for the line of kings in truth.

"They are waiting," her mother said through her tense jaw, voice strained.

Amarwen's first response was to let them wait longer still but that would not serve them well. They needed to secure her father's release before all else. Hostage negotiations must commence at once.

She gathered her mother's hands in her own, "Then let us begin."


Down to the Great Hall they went, arm in arm. The household staff were silent, fearful. For the men waiting within were hardly guests. Guests did not arrive swathed in armour and gripping their weapons, the stink of a sacked city still thick on their charred cloaks. Guests did not pound on the doors and demand entry on pain of death.

Their Chamberlain met them at the doors to the Great Hall with pleading eyes, a silent plea for what he had begged them to do only yesterday - to flee as so many were. To leave Edhellond and its people to the usurper and those he would replace them with. To meet the same foul treatment as that which Osgiliath had reaped. No, Alenna had declared and Amarwen agreed with her wholeheartedly. They would stand. They would weather the storm. They would secure Therald's release and negotiate a peace that would protect Edhellond and its people.

"These... these men, they are-" he began, stumbling over his words for no one expected the usurper to have turned his eyes so swiftly to Edhellond.

"I know what they are," her mother answered the Chamberlain, finding a store of steely resolve conserved and shepherded for just this.

Their retainers must see them staunch, unbowed, determined to stay the course no matter how fearful they were. There there could be no relenting until Therald was secured. The Chamberlain bowed his head, turned away and, with a fretful frown, pushed open the doors to admit them into their hall.


The first thing Amarwen noted was their number. There had to be at least ten men gathered. All wore mail, some plate and no few weapons. Hard travel stained their gear, and that was not all. She did indeed see smoke and blood and a fresh wave of anger began to bubble. These were not men sent to negotiate. Osgiliath had been sacked by grim, stone-faced men such as these and there had been no measure of decency or mercy there if half the tales they heard were correct.

The men had been gathered together, quietly talking to themselves but now they swung about. Most Amarwen did not know or recognise save for two of their number. Calamir, the Master of the Mariner's Guild, had been a frequent guest at this very hall over the years. He had been a staunch ally of Therald within the Guild. She had heard her parents discuss him of late but until now she had not been able to believe that he had declared for the usurper Castamir. He had made of himself their foe. The Guild Master had the decency, at least, to incline his head to her mother in deference to her position. At his shoulder stood his son, Halvarin. His expression was taut and she could not tell what he thought as his eyes flickered over her and her mother. A muscle feathered in his jaw as his gaze returned to her and it took all her restraint to hold her position by her mother. The man that gazed to her now, she almost did not recognise him for the man she knew him to be. He was both familiar and strange to her both.

"Your Grace," Calamir intoned as they closed.

Lady Alenna said nothing as she stared at the Guild Master. As if she somehow perceived the tidings he bore. The tension mounted rapidly until Amarwen could remain quiet no longer.

"Therald, the Lord of Edhellond... what is his fate?"


A blunt question to be sure, but Amarwen saw little to be gained otherwise. These men had come from war, for war. Of that she was all but certain.

"Alive," Halvarin answered and at that her mother sagged on her arm.

Calamir stepped forward so quickly that Amarwen had little choice but to surrender her mother to him. Her teeth set as she watched him assist her mother to a chair. The other men swiftly gathered around it and Amarwen made to force herself through their press to her mother's side. Halvarin's hand on her arm drew her back and away.


"Why did he ride out for Eldacar?" Halvarin hissed in her ear.

Amarwen's gaze did not shift from the knot of men crowding her mother but her tone was ice, "Because treason holds no appeal in these halls. As well you should know."

"I am no traitor!"

"Were you there, at Osgiliath, Hal? How many traitors did you find amongst the women and children slain in those streets?"

"Osgiliath chose to fight, even though they had no hope of prevailing. It was foolish. Reckless. Had they surrendered, none of it would have been necessary."

"When is wholesale slaughter is ever necessary?," she returned, her fury mounting. Amarwen's attention returned to the men gathered around her mother. They were gathered so tightly she could not even see her.

"Edhellond will be next. Open the harbour for pity's sake. It need not come to this. Not here," Halvarin implored. "It's the only path out of this."

Amarwen's heart felt cold and heavy as she shook her head from side to side. This man, the man she loved, was not here to defend them. "The harbour will only open when my father is safely returned to Edhellond. It is as simple as that."

Beside her, Halvarin pushed out a sorrowful sigh, "Nothing is simple any more, Ami."


The plaintive note in his voice pulled her eyes to his and she was struck, as had so often occurred in the past, by their colour. Like the storm tossed sea, they were, blue and grey both depending on how the light hit them. There had been a night not so long ago that she had gazed into them and they had been laughing. Filled with joy and no small degree of mischief as they danced in this very hall. She still remembered the feel of his arms around her, sure and steady, when they had slipped away to the gardens that night. How had they been so foolish to think they could withstand this?

"Perhaps you are right," she sighed, for his eyes seemed as bleak as her heart. Amarwen washed a hand over her face but before anything more could be said, Lady Alenna to her feet and began to push her way out from the men around her.

Amarwen's eyes widened at the terrible wrath upon her mother's face. She went to step forward but Halvarin caught her elbow as the men around her mother closed again.

"Never. This house, nor Edhellond, will bow neither head nor knee to the Usurper!" Lady Alenna's voice rang loudly through the hall.

"A terrible mistake, your Grace," Calamir declared ominously, "Unlike Osgiliath, Edhellond is indefensible. You fail to comprehend, though I do not know how, that you are alone in your opposition to the King. All the others are dead or have fled fled."

"Castamir is no more King than I."

"This intransigence is why your husband will die and your people starve. How long before they turn on themselves, or you?"

Again Amarwen tried to go to her mother but Halvarin held her fast. "Do not," he warned and at that the doors opened, pushed in by the men of the household.

From the Chamberlain to those that tended the kitchen and stables, some of them armed with no more than their fists, all with a frenzied, desperate light in their eyes.

"Unhand our Lady and quit this place," the Chamberlain said, lifting his silvered chin.

Amarwen had never seen him so wroth before. This was a man that had tossed her on his knee.

"Have them stand down," Halvarin pleaded in a low voice, "It need not end like this."


But already it was too late, for one of the men by Amarwen's mother seized her roughly and threw her to his fellows as he cleared his sword. The great hall filled with the terrible scrape of steel clearing scabbards and this sent those in the doorway flying forwards, intent on casting these men out. But, valiant as they were, they were no match for the men they sought to drive forth. Horrified, Amarwen was momentarily transfixed until Halvarin pulled her away.

"Hide," he hissed at her, urgent, even as he drew his sword.

She heard her mother cry out, "RUN AMARWEN! RU-unhh..."

A strangled sound and then nothing as Calamir turned to where she stood. Behind him, she could see her mother's form, prone on the flagstone floor. An outstretched hand, limp. Blood pooling. Fingers weakly twitching and then still... and the drip of Lady Alenna's from the Guild Master's sword to the floor. The horror paralyzed Amarwen where she stood.

"Bring the girl here, lad," Calamir barked to Halvarin. Halvarin's arm around Amarwen's elbow twitched, tightening at his father's instructions. Whether to obey his father or deny him, Amarwen could not say and dared not venture.

She blinked at the absence of tone in the Calamir's voice. It was as stark and bleak as his face and that realisation broke through Amarwen's shock. This man would kill her just as he had her mother. She could hear those still fighting towards the doors. Cries of anger, fear, pain and outrage fading as they cut through the largely unarmed retainers like a hot knife through butter. Then, intentionally or not, Halvarin's grip loosened and she slipped free, collected up her heavy velvet skirts and did as her mother had bade her to do with her last breath. Amarwen ran...


Running was something she had always been good at, skirts or not. She was fleet as fox and she knew her family halls far better than those pursuing her. Amarwen did not dare look back at those pounding after her. Their weapons and armour weighed far more heavily that her skirts and unlike them, she could get to the harbour and a ship without fear of being harried. Once she had the wind in her sails she would elude them no matter how fast their horses were. Whilst she slipped through the streets of her childhood home, those pursuing her were not so fortunate.

As fortune would have it, she was on the water with the tide before Calamir and his men gained the docks. Unlike her, they had been stalled and waylaid at every pass by the people of Edhellond angered by the fresh blood bright on their blades and the murder in their faces. And if they thought they'd appropriate a ship to pursue her, the actions of Edhellond's Harbour Master put paid to that.

Amarwen whipped towards the sea with the ships of Edhellond aflame at her back. It was a sight terrible and stunning to behold. Back on the docks, Halvarin pressed his arm over his mouth and nose to keep the smoke at bay.

"Every last ship, boat and dinghy," Calamir raged, appalled as any mariner would be, "These people are mad!"

Halvarin said nothing, his eyes tracking the small sail of the one ship that had slipped away. Amarwen was doomed now, he thought to himself with a growing sense of helpless and overwhelming despair. She'd be a fugitive now, a traitor to be hunted down. Castamir would show no mercy. Assuming she somehow managed to land the tiny boat safely. It was not made to withstand the sea and she could not risk hugging the coast where she might be seen and apprehended.

He pushed out a sigh and then returned his attention to their immediate surrounds. The smoke was thickening and the people of Edhellond had proven themselves wroth. Whilst Amarwen's father had taken most of the men at arms with him to Osgiliath, there was no telling how emboldened the townsfolk would be once the smoke gave them cover. Particularly once word of events at the hall reached them. That would not take long for they had been too preoccupied with pursuing Amarwen to ensure none lived to speak of it. And so, in that sense, Amarwen had saved a good many lives this day with her flight for they lacked the number to return to the hall and quell the burgeoning violence brewing around them in the port.


"We should be away, Father," he said, "There is nothing to be gained here."

Calamir muttered an oath under his breath as he turned on his heels. As they strode back to where they had left their horses, Halvarin asked what was likely unwise, "Was it necessary to kill the Lady of Edhellond?"

Calamir rolled his shoulders, "I had hoped that she might see reason. For Edhellond, for her daughter."

"What of the Lord of Edhellond now?" he asked.

"For the King to decide," his father answered with a grimace, "But I doubt it will be a merciful one."

"And Amarwen?" he pressed, at which his father turned about to study him.

He lifted a hand to set upon Halvarin's shoulder, "The kindest thing, lad, is to hope the sea claims the lass before the King does."


By the time they had ridden back to Minas Anor, his father's words proved true. The new King had swept through the court of Gondor like a bloody scythe. The dead included the Lord of Edhellond and Eldacar's eldest son Ornendil, both executed scant hours after Halvarin had ridden out for Edhellond, fearful to let his father go on without him.

The discovery that Therald had been dead by the time they had gained Edhellond's halls was another stone in Halvarin's stomach. He had told Amarwen that her father was alive. One more thing she could never forgive him for.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[Rillewen]

(Private)

Renia

Fanuilond - A fishing town situated at the mouth of the Anduin
Mid-December (a week or two before the Midwinter Masquerade Ball)

Renia sat back on her heels, sighing softly as she tucked a blond curl behind one ear. Stuffing the message back into its bottle, cramming the cork back into the top.. she frowned in thought as she dropped it back into the water. The string would keep it from drifting away, but would Trev ever get it? Pushing up to her feet, she gazed out at the horizon, then looked at the harbor with a little frown. She had just checked all of the piers here. The only bottle she’d found was the one she had left here, months ago. The message was still there. It had been far too long since their last contact. She was getting extremely worried. Ever since they established their message in a bottle thing, Trev had always left her some sort of note whenever he came to a town with a dock. Sometimes, she would come to a port and find a message, then go to the next, and find that she had apparently just missed him there as well, and so on. Once or twice, she’d ended up returning to the same port more than once and find a fresh note, and was disappointed to learn that she had missed him yet again. But he always left a note.

It had been more than a year now since she last got any sort of message. And longer than that since she’d seen him in person. But the last time she had seen him… he was not well. Physically, sure. But she could tell that he was miserable. Just about every time she saw the boy, he looked really sad or upset or just.. unhappy in general. But that time, he had been really miserable. And that worried her, if nothing else. She had done what she could to try and cheer him up, but there was only so much that she could do. Since she knew her own captain wouldn’t want to accept Devedir’s son into his crew, and Trev rejected the idea of running away from Dev.. there weren’t many other options, right?

The fact that his father’s crew hated him and were always looking to punish or get back at him for this or that.. well, that concerned her too. That, added to the information about how Dev seemed to want to manipulate him and keep him under Dev’s control.. well, that had prompted Renia to try and find some way to help him out of this situation. But what could she do? Her own captain couldn’t stand Dev, and refused to believe that his son would be any different. So, he refused to allow Trev on board his ship, and had threatened a terrible death to him, should he find him stowing away. Renia wanted to return the favor from when he helped her stow away on his ship, but she thought it better to find another way. And so.. they had been forced to part ways without reaching any satisfying solution, the last time they’d seen one another.

Moving off the docks and onto the beach, she sat quietly on the sand, staring thoughtfully at the horizon. This was the third time this year she had checked this harbor. For the past year, she had been checking up and down the coastline. She’d even parted from her crew, obtained a small sailing vessel that she could manage on her own, and had set off to search for Trev in every harbor, port, and fishing village up and down the Gondor coast. Even some of the Harad ones, when she dared. And after her first run, she only kept finding the same messages she had left the last time she was there. This was concerning. Deeply concerning. What had become of him?

She let out a sigh as she leaned back on her hands, staring up at the clouds for a moment. “Where are you?” She muttered into the air. ‘Please, please let him be alright,’ she added mentally. Trev was very dear to her heart. He was the only friend that she had who was near her own age, and besides that.. she felt an emotional draw toward him. She felt things in her heart when she thought of him, and when he was near. And when they were apart, she felt an ache of longing in her heart, to be near him once again. If anything happened to him… She just didn’t want to think about that.

Frowning, she lay back on the sand and folded her arms under her head. Her thoughts roamed as she stared up at the clouds, until her eyes eventually drifted shut, and her breathing slowed. Soon, she was dreaming of the last time she had seen Trev. He had been smiling when they parted ways. Snatching her hat with a laugh, and vowing to return it when he saw her next. She had laughed and shook her head, amusedly muttering that she didn’t even care about the hat. What she enjoyed, honestly, was their little game. Each trying to claim the hat before they parted ways, to determine which would keep it until they saw each other again. That was what she enjoyed. It was fun. And it was theirs.

The water lapping at her feet woke her. Renia blinked, looking up at a different sky than when she had dozed off. A wave washed up to her ankles, and she sat up. Ohhh, the tide. Yes, that was a thing. She stretched, not minding as the water washed over her legs, drenching her trousers up to the mid shin. Then she sat up and glanced around. To her surprise, she spotted a ship easing its way into port... a swan-shaped ship. Interesting! She felt a glimmer of hope stir in her heart, although she tried to quell it. There were many swan-shaped ships out there, and she was not all that far from Dol Amroth, where they built them like that in all sizes. But this one looked familiar. Still, just to be sure, she would go and check it out. But she’d have to be careful not to be spotted.

Ducking underneath the nearest length of dock, which extended partially over the sand instead of water, she crouched in the shadow of the pier while she quietly watched the men disembarking from the ship. She recognized a few of these men! She knew them to be members of the crew who were so awful to Trev. Her eyes narrowed, watching. Trev did not come out with them. So, he must still be aboard. But where? She narrowed her eyes lightly. The brig? She was aware that he sometimes got locked up in there. She waited for a long while, watching the crewmen disappear into the various establishments like Tap of the Grog, The Red House, The Tipsy Triton, and Mother’s finest. Not unsurprising, considering the sort of places those were, and the sort of men they happened to be. Renia didn’t really care about what they did with their free time though; she kept her attention focused on the ship. Watching the ramp spanning the small gap between the ship and the pier. No sign of Trev, though.

She bit her lip, thinking. If the crew were allowed to go off to taverns and such, then that meant the ship would be here for some time. At least overnight. Right? As the tide began to rise up the sand to where she stood, she climbed up on top of the pier she had hidden under. Casually strolling along the dock until she was closer to the ‘Wingolost’, she then took a careful look around. No one was in sight on the docks. Everyone had gone into the establishments to make the most of their shore time. Renia stood up on tiptoe, peering as well as she could over the edge of the deck’s rail, and saw no one in sight on the ship, either. After a brief hesitation, she crept up the gangplank and then, catching sight of someone there after all, she swiftly dodged behind a rowboat turned on its side, resting at the edge of the deck. Her heart raced as she waited for a moment, listening. She heard no sound of alarm, or any other noise except for the men grumbling about everyone else getting to go aboard while they were stuck on guard duty. After a moment longer, she dared to peer over the edge of the rowboat. There were a pair of men standing together, looking bored but chatting to pass the time. They were both facing away, and partially away, from her. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to have heard or seen her.

She frowned, thinking about this for a moment. This would make it a lot more difficult to search the ship. Trev had emphasized very strongly that she would not be safe with any of his crewmates, and that they were rough, dirty-minded men full of violence and lacking in morals. She knew what he meant, and had no intention of letting herself be.. violated in any way. But how to lure them away? She bit her lower lip, thinking about this. After a moment, she dug into her pocket and pulled out one of the seashells she had stashed away earlier, for her collection. It was regretful to toss it, but this was more important. She could find plenty more seashells.. there was only one Trev. And this was the first chance she’d had in over a year to actually find him. She wasn’t about to pass it up.. even if he wasn't here, she would at least try to find out what had happened to him. She selected a clam-shaped, flattish shell, and flung it like a saucer toward the aft end of the deck.

Once the pirates had hurried over to investigate the noise, Renia emerged from her hiding spot, darted across the open space, and ducked through the door into the interior of the ship. She paused, glancing back briefly. They had not run after her, so she assumed that her ruse had worked. She let out a slow breath. Now, she moved slowly and cautiously onward, venturing down further and further into the depths of the ship. She had been on this ship before, when Trev had smuggled her off of that island to safety. To a town not very far from this one, in fact. She knew the way down into the cargo hold, and with her knowledge of ships, it wasn’t difficult to locate the other areas of the ship from there.

The crew’s quarters were empty. The brig was empty. The cargo area was empty. Even the secret compartment where she had hidden during that voyage, which she checked in case he was hiding there. She frowned slightly, sighing softly as she sat down on the empty crate, telling herself not to give up. Next, she checked the infirmary. No one there, except a man who was sprawled out on a cot, snoring. She was careful not to wake him, and slipped out carefully, moving next to the galley. It was also empty. The only place she had not yet checked was the captain’s cabin. Dare she check there?

[Rillewen]

(Private)

Renia

Fanuilond - A fishing town situated at the mouth of the Anduin
Mid-December (a week or two before the Midwinter Masquerade Ball)

Peeking out from the galley, Renia watched the deck carefully for a moment. She swiftly ducked back in as she saw two men walking past, deep in discussion about.. what sounded like business stuff. Her pulse sped up as she suddenly realized who they were. The captain and his first mate. She recognized them both mostly from Trev’s description, put together with what they were talking about. Plus, the white falcon perched on the captain’s shoulder was rather iconic for the man, according to what Trev had told her. The two men seemed to have just left the captain’s quarters, and were now heading toward the ramp to go ashore. Once they had gone past her, she emerged cautiously from the galley and crept along the wall, slowly and carefully, but steadily. If the captain was not in his cabin, then now was a perfect time to check there. She had no idea what she expected to find there, but somehow she couldn’t let herself leave the ship without having made absolutely sure that Trev was not there. She couldn’t do that if she didn’t check everywhere, right?

The door was locked, but that was no trouble for Renia. She let herself in easily. Still… the thought that the captain had locked it even when all of the crew was going ashore? That made her wonder. But, upon looking around inside, she let out a sigh of disappointment. The place was empty. She frowned, tapping her lips thoughtfully with the lockpick as she scanned the room. “Well, then.. if he isn’t here,” She muttered thoughtfully, moving toward the desk as she tucked her lockpick away. She carefully looked through a few papers, trying to find something of use. Her hope.. probably a vain hope, but hope it was regardless.. was that there might be some sort of information written somewhere that would tell her something about what had become of Trev. Because if he wasn’t on the ship, and she had not seen him leaving with the rest of the crew.. then that left her very concerned about where he might be. Or.. not be.

After sifting through all the papers, Renia determined most to be maps, others to be stuff to do with business, but nothing about Trev. She frowned and straightened with a sigh, then paced around the room. Thinking. What could they have done with Trev? She frowned and folded her arms, letting her upper back fall against a bare portion of the wall, to lean on it. And.. strangely, she felt something shift behind her, and heard a soft click. Startled, she leaped away from the wall and turned. She blinked. Part of the wall had just popped open! Boards of varying lengths formed the edges of a doorway, fitting like a puzzle into the wall it had come away from. She stared in astonishment, then carefully eased the door further open and looked inside. There was a closet of sorts on the other side. A small, narrow closet. As if someone had built a wall across one end of the room, matching it perfectly with the rest of the walls, and therefore created a narrow little room. A secret room!

Cautiously, she looked into this little room. On the inside of the door was attached a small handle, more like a knob than anything. There was a lantern hanging on a hook there, but the rest of the room was dark. “Trev?” She called in a whisper, just in case. There was no reply. Curiously, she pushed the door closed until she heard a little click, and it seemed to be latched. Then, pressing on the door again, she heard it click again, and it popped out slightly, again. Just enough to grip the edges and pull it open again. A clever little pressure latch, apparently. Smiling slightly, Renia nodded to herself and took the lantern that hung on a hook over the desk, and swapped it for the one in the hideaway. Then she stepped inside and glanced around. There was not much in there, but she was rather intrigued to discover a little chest tucked away in one end of the closet. She stepped inside and tried to open it. Locked. Of course. She rolled her eyes lightly, then kneeled to pick the lock.

It was a bit tougher than the door had been, but soon enough, she had it open. She smiled to herself in satisfaction. The smile quickly froze when she saw the contents of the chest. Gold! Lots of gold coins and gems, and jewelry, and other valuable little trinkets. “Whoa, someone’s been holding back on the others…” She muttered under her breath, amazed at the amount the captain had managed to stash away in secret. Something like that could get him a mutiny if the crew learned of it, too.

Among all these glittering treasures, she blinked and focused, rather, on the book resting on top of it all. Curious, she raised it up and flipped open the cover. “Captain’s log,” She read in surprise. She hadn’t realized that a man like Dev would keep a log, though technically it was expected of the captain and all officers to do so. But why would he keep it locked up in secret? She considered that briefly, then flipped past the first several pages and began to skim through it curiously. Her brow creased as she began to get an idea of the sort of transactions that were most frequent. Though she had already known about this.. for Trev had told her about those things.. it was still unpleasant to read about. She bit her lip as she continued to flip through the book. Maybe there would be a clue in here about where Trev was. However, the more she read, the more some of the entries began to catch her eye. Personal sort of insertions from Dev, concerning his son. She slowed her skimming to more careful reading, growing more and more troubled the more entries of this sort that she came across.

Suddenly, she heard a noise coming from the room beyond. Startled, she looked up and glanced around, suddenly realizing she was still in Captain Dev's private quarters. Hurrying to the doorway of the secret room, she saw the doorknob turning to the cabin’s main door, and she struggled not to panic. He was coming back! How long had she been in here, anyway? She had lost track of time. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice that the door wasn’t locked, as Dev had left it!

Grabbing the handle of the secret door, Renia pulled the door closed until she heard it click. Then she lowered the flame on the lantern until it was as dim as it could go without going out, and stood very, very still. Her heart raced as she waited. Various scenarios played out in her head. She'd never met the pirate, but she knew enough about him to despise him even before reading his logbook. What if he was about to come in here? Maybe he was going to add more gold to his stash.. or add another entry to his log? She bit her lip, trying to think of what to do. Perhaps, if she whacked him over the head with the book, she might surprise him long enough to get out of here and get to safety...