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Eärendils_Beloved
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Post *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 20, 2006 04:19
Five hundred years have passed since the War of the Ring. The wounds made by Sauron have long healed. Though much light and beauty has passed away with the leave taking of the Elves, much has been restored. The folk of Middle Earth are free to live without fear of the Shadow.

The Dominion of Men has come full circle. The glory of the Kings of Men has not burned so bright since the days of Númenor and the heirs of Aragorn Telcontar have ruled the Reunited Kingdom for many generations. But now that bliss has shattered…

The High King is dead.

~***~

The glittering visage of Minas Tirith stood in stark contrast to the low grey sky that poured countless tears on the City of Kings. The whole of heaven seemed to weep for him. The streets were silent and deserted. The only folk to be seen were the Wearers of Black and Silver, the Guards of the Citadel, who stood motionless in the pouring rain.

Far below the Tower Hall, behind Fen Hollen, stood a child. The Hallows echoed with her weeping as she stood there, swathed in a gown the color of midnight. A slender circlet of mithril rested on her head, glittering in the sad torch light. The child was none other than the Lady Elestirnë, the only child of King Elendur, High King of Gondor and Arnor. She wept bitterly as she stood at the foot of the tomb. Her father’s tomb.

Only twelve summers old, the young Elestirnë was now alone in the world. Her mother, Queen Faelwen had leapt to her death, driven mad with grief over the death of her lord and king, leaving her only child alone.

To darken her fate, King Elendur had no other heir to speak of; no son, no brother, no nephew. The fate of his kingdom now rested on the shoulders of his twelve-year-old daughter.

***

The mood about the palace had been one of shock and grief for the past week, but that now began to change, roiling into tension. The fate of a kingdom was at stake, indeed the fate of Middle Earth itself.

Within the Tower Hall, the late king’s advisors had gathered. The discussion had quickly escalated to an argument that rang through the hall. Even those who deigned not to raise their voices where clearly at their wit’s end.

“Elestirnë alone has claim to the throne of Gondor. No one here can deny that.” said the Steward.

He could hardly believe his eyes and ears, for it seemed that defending his sovereign was a losing battle. Much to his bewilderment, few seemed to have faith in Elestirnë. The Steward did, he reflected, have some claim to the governance of this kingdom. Had that not ruled over it when the King had fallen in times passed? But he could not claim the throne unless the fallen King was childless.

“My Lord Steward,” said another, “she is only a child. She is still tended by a nurse-maid for pity’s sake! She has not the means to govern.”

“That is not for us to decide.” the steward said hotly. “Elestirnë has been raised to rule from the cradle. With guidance, she will become a monarch.”

“And until then?”

~~~~

Thoronhael, young lore master’s apprentice and teacher of the king’s household, stood alone in the great library of Minas Tirith. Sighing raggedly, he dragged his eyes from the window and looked about. The library lay in musky dimness, lit only by a torch on the far wall and a tiny lamp that cast its meager light only on the table where in sat.

With slow exhausted steps, Thoronhael trudged over to that table and gazed at the loose leaves of parchment strewn over it.

What’s this?

Reaching, he gently pulled a sheet out from under the others. On the fine vellum, his young pupil had scrawled over and over again, practicing her penmanship. Repeatedly, young Elestirnë had signed her name in the mode of the ancient Númenoreans, in the manner of a queen:

Tar Elestirnë

Tears stung his eyes and he turned away.

How did it come to this?
***

The Steward walked swiftly down the corridor of the Royal Apartments, seeking his young queen. He reached a familiar door and knocked softly.

"The Steward here to see Queen Elestirnë."

The door opened to reveal Ivoreth, Elestirnë’s nurse-governess. Her round face, the Steward now saw, was devoid of its usual smile and she looked quite cross.

She curtsied.

“M’lord, I’m sorry, but Elestirnë is not here, and has not been for some time”

“Where is she, governess?” asked the Steward.

“Last I heard, she had locked herself in the Hallows.” said Ivoreth, shaking her head.

“She has gone from there now.”

“Then might I ask you, Lord Steward, to stop bothering here and search for her?” said Ivoreth saucily. Clearly he had outstayed his welcome in the woman’s domain. He did feel a bit miffed, however, that the woman should address the Steward of Minas Tirith in such a forward manner, until he remembered that Ivoreth was now head of the household since Queen Faelwen’s death.

“Forgive me, governess.”
________

Thoronhael walked swiftly under the terrace’s stone arches, headed for the Tower Hall, when he spotted his young queen in the courtyard. The rain had stopped and the storm was whipped apart to reveal patches of blue sky. Clouds muted the sun’s light.

Elestirnë stood on the edge of the great stone ledge whose base, carved from the bones of the mountain, rose like a massive ship’s prow out of the earth. Her back was turned to him and her form was still.

Thoronhael stood agonizing for a long moment, wanting to say something, but not daring to do so. His heart leapt into his throat as he stood there and a silent dread crept over him.

Not five days earlier, Elestirnë’s mother, Queen Faelwen had stood in that same spot and being startled by an unexpected word from Thoronhael, she had thrown herself from the cliff and fallen to her death.

Thoronhael was spared the painful ordeal when Elestirnë turned from her reverie and walked back towards him. She didn’t seem to notice him and stopped before coming too near. She stood on the edge of the circular green lawn, gazing up at the White Tree. It was high spring and the Tree was in full blossom. Each bloom looked to be wrought of pearl and shed rain from its petals like drops of liquid crystal. The Tree alone it seemed, showed no signs of grief, but stood as stately and glorious as ever on its emerald sward.

Thoronhael came forward slowly and cautiously until he and his child queen stood opposite each other.

“It mocks me.” he heard her say. It was a voice entirely unlike her own. Contorted by grief and contempt, it seemed to come from another world.

It was then that she looked on him for the first time since he’s spotted her. Her gray eyes shown with tears, but none fell.

Thoronhael opened his mouth to speak, but could find nothing worth saying.
Without another word, Elestirnë walked around the lawn and past him. The teacher followed at a respectful distance.

Tutor and pupil left the courtyard and entered the Royal Apartments in silence.
Elestirnë walked slowly down the hall and into one of the rooms.

It was a study of sorts, furnished with a huge desk and an ornate chair. Tapestries hung on the west wall and a large bank of soaring windows graced the east.

The door was left ajar as the maiden floated to a window. She said nothing, but stared out to the horizon in utter silence.

Thoronhael stood helplessly for an instant before turning to leave. It was then that he saw the Steward walking towards him; they met on the threshold. Thoronhael nodded in respectful reverence.

“I take my leave.” He said with a quick bow and passed out of the door and down the hall.

The Steward stood unnoticed for a long moment before Elestirnë turned towards him.
Now that a black veil no longer hid her features, the steward saw how pale and fragile she looked. While still terribly young, there seemed to be something aged about her now, with lifeless eyes that looked out at the world. Rimmed with dark circles, the only light there now was the glistening of tears, as if the child’s soul had withered.

Elestirnë wore no crown or coronet and her dark tresses hung loose about her tiny frame. The hem of her dark gown pooled on the floor at her feet. There was something horrifying about Elestirnë’s appearance for the man that had known the princess since the day she was born. No longer was Minas Tirith graced with the light of a cheerful, beautiful child who flitted about in white or the fair colors of spring and whose laugh could charm a beast. Instead she was replaced by this shadow of youth who seemed to be fading before their eyes.



[Edited on 26/3/2006 by Eärendils_Beloved]
BerethEdhellen
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 23, 2006 07:38
Adrahil stood on the balcony of the palace, his hands resting on the balustrade, gazing out at the sea far down the hills of Dol Amroth. The sun was shining brightly on the water, making it sparkle, and a few ships were either entering or leaving the port. It was one of his favorite places to stand, especially when he had much to think of....and he did have much to think of. With the recent death of his father from an unexpected illness, he had become the Prince of his realm suddenly. Although he had been trained for this role all his life, he thought, one is never really prepared when the time comes.

He missed his father but had placed him in the great hall of the dead, alongside his mother, who had died several years before. His sister was still grieving and spent most of her time in her room, seldom coming out. He missed his sister's company and spent as much time as he had available to him to console and comfort her but his life was busy now. He had the responsibility of his kingdom to care for.

But there was one happy thing to look forward to. Elestirnë would soon be arriving with her mother, a distant relative of his family, for their annual summer visit. Little Elestirnë, his betrothed. He laughed at that concept but it was something his and her parents arranged at her birth when he was only 10 years old. His parents had only told him when he was 18 and he remembered commenting at the time that it was then very fortunate he had not found a woman of his own choice on his own. He had asked if the child knew and was told no, not until she too reached the age of 18..and he was not to mention it. So it went, year after year, the summer visits, the visits to give the two of them time to get to know each other without the pressure of any pre-arrangement.

Interestingly, he found the young princess an enchanting child....willful and stubborn, but gentle of nature and brightly intelligent. He could well imagine the lovely woman she would someday become and as he had not yet met that 'woman of his own choice' (he chuckled) he was willing to wait for that day and see what might happen between the two of them. During this summer, though, he was going to teach her how to play his lute, as she was developing a lovely singing voice and both loved to sing in lovely harmony the old songs of the Eldar and the sea folk.

They were due to arrive in another day or two and he was excitedly awaiting their arrival. Sighing, he took one last look at the ocean as he heard his senior advisor calling from the room behind him. Turning, he entered the library and walked to his desk, ready to sign even more documents. Documents upon documents...is that all there was to being the Prince of Dol Amroth.
Life is good! Live it to the fullest. Love well those near and dear. "You cannot step into the same river twice, for the waters are ever flowing on ....." Heraclitus I Aear cân ven na mar
Sirithros_Lirenel
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 25, 2006 03:41
[OOC: Here goes…]

It was at times like these he felt he was really as useless as some people thought he was. The scholar had oft been described as soft and passive – he allowed the more pushy to walk all over him, he was of no more consequence than background noise, he might as well not exist for all the good he did hovering around trying to help but not managing to actually do something… The list went on. And right now, he could have agreed with every single one of his critics, and there were many of them.

Elestirnë was hurting, grieving so deeply his heart ached almost physically for her. She was utterly alone in this world, forsaken by both parents at such a tender age. She had a whole kingdom waiting on her next move, and it was inevitable the young girl would have opposition from those who would rather put someone older and possibly wiser on the throne with the excuse Elestirnë would not be able to handle the heavy duty of running a whole country. For heaven’s sake! He wanted to cry out. She was but twelve! She should have been carefree and irresponsible and reckless with the heady combination of youthful high spirits and the fire or life, and here she was, facing a premature ascension to the throne and the complicated adult world of politics. Somehow, Thoronhael could not help wondering if this was to be the end of his beloved pupil’s childhood and possibly the delightful little girl he had known. Already she seemed to be someone altogether different – an age older, an ocean sadder. Nigh unrecognisable.

And what had he, her tutor, done?

Nothing.

Just stood there and stared at her like the dumb duck he was and struggled to say something and failed ever so miserably.

Not that words would have helped.

But he could have *said* something! Offered her some comfort, for all it was worth. Said “I’m sorry” or “Would you like to talk?” or anything along those lines, no matter how insincere he felt it would sound. At least he meant it, and he could have let her know.

And he was supposed to be her teacher!

He could have kicked himself as he mutely left her chambers, leaving Elestirnë and the steward alone.

Well, maybe the steward could do something more useful.

Still silent, he allowed his feet to carry him back to his small study off the library of Minas Tirith, where he spent most of his days and where he gave Elestirnë her lessons. Collapsing into the hard chair, he stared at the sheet of vellum covered with the child’s anguished scrawl, feeling increasingly helpless.

It was with utmost irony that Thoronhael suddenly remembered the lesson plans drawn up what seemed now like a year ago, and a whole week behind schedule, ever since… He was supposed to have been going through the structure and history of Gondor’s government.

It seemed that little Elestirnë would indeed be needing those lessons, and in much greater depth than he had originally intended.

[OOC: Not sure how to make Thoronhael run into another character, but anyone’s welcome to come looking for him or something like that…]
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 26, 2006 06:27
Within the Tower Hall, the late king’s advisors had gathered. The discussion had quickly escalated to an argument that rang through the hall. Even those who deigned not to raise their voices where clearly at their wit’s end.

“Elestirnë alone has claim to the throne of Gondor. No one here can deny that.” said the Steward.

He could hardly believe his eyes and ears, for it seemed that defending his sovereign was a losing battle. Much to his bewilderment, few seemed to have faith in Elestirnë. The Steward did, he reflected, have some claim to the governance of this kingdom. Had that not ruled over it when the King had fallen in times passed? But he could not claim the throne unless the fallen King was childless.

“My Lord Steward,” said another, “she is only a child. She is still tended by a nurse-maid for pity’s sake! She has not the means to govern.”

“That is not for us to decide.” the steward said hotly. “Elestirnë has been raised to rule from the cradle. With guidance, she will become a monarch.”

“And until then?”

His stomach 'roiling' at the argument raging in the Council Chambers, the Counsellor from Anfalas stood up. His voice quiet, but firm, "'Until then'," Falamir said, "She will have *my* support, and advice when it's asked for!"

With that, the man bowed stiffly, turned, and walked out before he lost control of his almost-shredded temper. It was rarely that Falamir did... and he disliked having it so.

Outside the door, he leaned against the wall for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Elestirnë may be young to be Queen of Gondor... but that *didn't* mean she didn't deserve the full support of everyone on the Council!

The representative from Anfalas, however, couldn't help but be glad that the Steward had firmly refused to take over. - It was as Falamir had expected, though, for always, the man had been faithful to their ruler.

Shaking his head, and wondering what the next council-meeting would be like, Falamir found himself wandering the Palace hallways... past the library... and then caught sight of his young Queen's tutor slipping into his study.

Thoronhael was always a good person to talk to, Falamir knew, and his steps quickened as the Counsellor approached the scholar's door. - And, besides, he was worried about Elestirnë, and what the child was now facing...

With a polite knock, "Thoronhael? - It's Counsellor Falamir! - May I come in?" he inquired, and waited for the door to be opened...

(( I hope this is okay for Falamir's 're-intro'; and Sirithros - ask and ye shall receive! ))
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
Sirithros_Lirenel
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 27, 2006 02:04
[OOC: Lol! Received with thanks. ]

Thoronhael was startled out of his reverie by a sudden knock on the door, and then a familiar voice asking softly.

"Thoronhael? - It's Counsellor Falamir! - May I come in?"

Well, at least one thing was going right, he found himself thinking, slightly relieved. He had been wanting news from the councils currently going on, and he knew the other man had been with the council all day. Perhaps it was rather early for the council to be let off, he realised, but hopefully that meant some sort of consensus had been reached. Hopefully. Then again from what he had gathered, listening and asking around the past few days, things were not going that smoothly. It was more probable that the council had been disbanded early to let tempers cool and to allow people to mull things over, yet again. At any rate, Falamir was not bad company, and he might seek some help as to what to do with little Elestirnë.

Hastily brushing aside the messy piles or parchment currently gracing his small desk – the results of a good few days’ procrastination and almost everything everywhere grinding to a halt in view of the current crisis – he opened the door.

“M’lord! You wanted me? Come in – it’s a bit cluttered right now, forgive me…”

The scholar turned back to his desk and continued clearing papers and books away, making an attempt at organising the stacks and slipping loose books back into the shelves willy-nilly. As he shifted a sheaf of parchment covered with random sketches – one of Thoronhael’s favourite pastimes and emotional outlets – the exposed loose sheets beneath slipped and scattered over the floor of the small room.

“Oh, darn!” he cursed quietly, snatching up the paper with uncharacteristic violence from one who normally treated books with such loving reverence. It crunched almost satisfactorily in his hands. “I am so sorry… Everything’s been so… mixed up these days.”
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: February 28, 2006 04:36
“M’lord! You wanted me? Come in – it’s a bit cluttered right now, forgive me…”

The scholar turned back to his desk and continued clearing papers and books away, making an attempt at organising the stacks and slipping loose books back into the shelves willy-nilly. As he shifted a sheaf of parchment covered with random sketches – one of Thoronhael’s favourite pastimes and emotional outlets – the exposed loose sheets beneath slipped and scattered over the floor of the small room.

“Oh, darn!” he cursed quietly, snatching up the paper with uncharacteristic violence from one who normally treated books with such loving reverence. It crunched almost satisfactorily in his hands. “I am so sorry… Everything’s been so… mixed up these days.”

"Don't apologize!" Falamir dismissed it, though he admired the brief glimpse of the sketches the scholar then crumpled up. With a faint smile, "No need to hide your scribblings, either," the Counsellor added, "If you don't want to share them, don't... everyone needs something 'constructive' to keep them busy these days," he added, and sighed heavily.

"And... no, well... nothing in 'particular'," Falamir returned to Thoronhael's question. - Yet... "How is the Queen?" he then asked quietly. "I haven't seen her since the funeral," and the Counsellor almost shuddered at the open grief on the child's face.

"Do you know if the Steward has spoken to her?" Falamir inquired, "Does she know there is opposition to her Rule?"

Heavy questions, the representative from Anfalas knew... yet, the man wanted to be certain Thoronhael knew that Elestirnë had his full support...
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 01, 2006 03:02
He shook his head in resignation.

"I am afraid I have not spoken to nor seen Elestirnë much the past few days, but the few times I came across her she would not say much, and neither could I..." Thoronhael turned to his sketches, ruffling them back into order. He hoped the councillor would not catch the uncharacteristic waver to his voice, but he had been rather stretched emotionally, and it was starting to show. "But she does not look well. I saw her in the courtyard by the tree this morning, and followed her back to her rooms. The Steward met us there. I hope he can get through to her; maybe she can be more open with him than anyone else..."

He paused to consider the second question.

"I am not sure if Elestirnë is actually aware of the magnitude of everything she is facing, but neither will I say that she is totally ignorant. She is an intelligent child... Surely she will have picked up some of the atmosphere, though if she does not know I would not like to be the one who will further burden her with such news."

[OOC: Apologies, short post. Wasn't much to say.]
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 01, 2006 05:46
Beregond had nearly reached Minas Tirith after his long journey home from the South. He had been inspecting the troops under his command that had been garrisoned along the border with Harad. They were bored, for the Haradrim were still afraid of even thinking about attacking Gondor again. Next to that, there wasn't much to do in fortifications at the edge of the desert, except for some inns and some entertainment the solders themselves could come up with. He had tried to liften up their spirits, but what they realy needed was some sort of action. He didn't intend to go to war just for his men to have something to do, but he needed to discuss with the Council and the King some sort of drill or expedition.
These and many more thoughts were going through Beregond's mind, for he cared much for the soldiers under his command, they were his responsibility. As commander of the Southern army, this responsibilty streched out over nearly one third of Gondor's army, what stood for 10000 men garrisoned in the South and 5000 more at rest in Minas Tirith.

Most of those thoughts however, flooded from his mind when he saw the Tower of Minas Tirith apaering at the horizon. Each minute, he could see mre of the city. The White City had expanded enormously under the reign of the house of Telcontar. It was nearly as large as Osgiliath had been in the days of old. Lots of buildings were now outside the Seventh wall, now depending on the protection of the Rammas, which was fully repaired, and the fortifications built in Osgiliath, were permanently 20 companies were garrisoned, under the command of his brother, who was responsible for the Guards of The Tower.
Then, he saw the signs of mourning on every flagpole in the city and the Royal banner hanging half-pole. He felt as if like a fist of ice grabbed his heart. It couldn't be true, the High King had died...

Once in the city, he saw that nearly everyone was dressed in black and all looked miserable. He forced Althonnar, his black stallion, into a gallop straight to the top of Minas tirith. He gave his horse to a guard and rushed inside, ignoring the saluting and everything they might be saying to him. many f the counsellors were on their way out, so he asked one of them, where his father was. No-one had seen him after the council. He then huried to his father's room, but the steward wasn't there. Searching the palace, he overheard Thoronhael, the teacher of the Princess, and Falamir, the representative of Anfalas, talking:
"And... no, well... nothing in 'particular'," Falamir returned to Thoronhael's question. - Yet... "How is the Queen?" he then asked quietly. "I haven't seen her since the funeral," and the Counsellor almost shuddered at the open grief on the child's face.

"Do you know if the Steward has spoken to her?" Falamir inquired, "Does she know there is opposition to her Rule?"

Heavy questions, the representative from Anfalas knew... yet, the man wanted to be certain Thoronhael knew that Elestirnë had his full support...


Who would be the opposition to the Queen? Beregond always thought Queen Faelwen was as capable as her husband, King Elendur, May the Valar have his soul. He was about to go in and ask more about it, when he heard the next part:
"I am afraid I have not spoken to nor seen Elestirnë much the past few days, but the few times I came across her she would not say much, and neither could I..." Thoronhael turned to his sketches, ruffling them back into order. He hoped the councillor would not catch the uncharacteristic waver to his voice, but he had been rather stretched emotionally, and it was starting to show. "But she does not look well. I saw her in the courtyard by the tree this morning, and followed her back to her rooms. The Steward met us there. I hope he can get through to her; maybe she can be more open with him than anyone else..."

He paused to consider the second question.

"I am not sure if Elestirnë is actually aware of the magnitude of everything she is facing, but neither will I say that she is totally ignorant. She is an intelligent child... Surely she will have picked up some of the atmosphere, though if she does not know I would not like to be the one who will further burden her with such news."


Elestirne, He thought, ELESTIRNE!!!!. Beregond was shocked, were they going to make the little girl High Queen of Gondor and Arnor. That was impossible, did they want to ruin Gondor. There had to be someone else who could take over the throne... He had to find his father..

Beregond knocked on the door, saying: "It is Beregond here, can I come in please?

[OOC: hope this will do as intro for Beregond]

[Edited on 1/3/2006 by CoNFuSeD_Elessar]
Telemnar
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 02, 2006 08:35
((OoC: Sorry for taking so long to post. My real life kept getting in the way of my CoE life.))

The Steward leaned heavily on his walking stick as he waited for Elestirnë to turn toward him. Speaking to her about the council was certainly not a task that he would relish, but Harandor accepted his duty without emotion, as he had always done throughout his life. Elestirnë turned to face him, and to the Steward it seemed that she had faded even more since the dawn of this dreary day. The young girl had, in the short time since her father's death, been reduced to a ghost of her former self. And now it was his duty to burden her even further. They stood there silently for a moment, the aging man and the child.

"Queen Elestirnë," The Steward said. He could not guess whether or not the use of the title would cause the girl more pain than she already felt, but he would not even consider addressing the child who now ruled Gondor in any other way. "We are all in a state of great mourning, but there are other grave matters that I must speak to you about, for the good of your people." The girl gave no sign, but the Steward could tell that she was listening by the way that she looked up at him. "My Queen, you must look to your kingdom. I regret to say this, but the council does not seem capable of reaching any consensus among it's members." So far the Steward's little monologue had been spoken without emotion, but now his voice changed. It was now sadness mixed with touch of bitterness. "Some of them have doubts that you may be fit to rule them on account of your age." After a pause he admitted, "I certainly never expected the council to be hostile. Never in the whole history of Gondor has our ruler been one so young, but you are still of the house of Telcontar, and so it is your right and duty to rein over us. I do realize that this may be very difficult at such a time, but if you would consider giving an address to the council; it could affirm your rightful position." The Steward was not as hopeful about this idea as he sounded. Still, it could do no harm, and perhaps a great deal of good.

The Steward had put the whole thing as diplomatically as he could without downplaying the problem. Harandor did have suspicions beyond what he had said, but as he had no evidence to go on it would do no good to trouble Elestirnë further; at least for the moment.
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 03, 2006 07:07
"I am afraid I have not spoken to nor seen Elestirnë much the past few days, but the few times I came across her she would not say much, and neither could I..." Thoronhael turned to his sketches, ruffling them back into order. He hoped the councillor would not catch the uncharacteristic waver to his voice, but he had been rather stretched emotionally, and it was starting to show. "But she does not look well. I saw her in the courtyard by the tree this morning, and followed her back to her rooms. The Steward met us there. I hope he can get through to her; maybe she can be more open with him than anyone else..."

He paused to consider the second question.

"I am not sure if Elestirnë is actually aware of the magnitude of everything she is facing, but neither will I say that she is totally ignorant. She is an intelligent child... Surely she will have picked up some of the atmosphere, though if she does not know I would not like to be the one who will further burden her with such news."

Falamir listened carefully, digesting what the Scholar told him. "Nor would I," he shook his head, "and I don't envy the Steward having to..." the Counsellor was adding, when a knock interrupted.
"It is Beregond here, can I come in please?"

"Ah! He's back," Falamir commented, but since this was Thoronhael's office, it would be impolite for him to open the door.

"Shall we hear what news he has?" the Counsellor inquired, " - I'm sure he's in dire need of hearing ours..."

(( eh. not much, but moving along a bit... I hope! ))
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
Sirithros_Lirenel
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 05, 2006 02:25
[OOC: It's ok. Dialogue doesn't make for much to write. And happy birthday, Eärendils_Beloved! (And I can totally empathise with the RL getting in the way thing. Crunch week starts tomorrow for me. ><)]

Falamir listened carefully, digesting what the Scholar told him. "Nor would I," he shook his head, "and I don't envy the Steward having to..." the Counsellor was adding, when a knock interrupted.

"It is Beregond here, can I come in please?"

"Ah! He's back," Falamir commented, but since this was Thoronhael's office, it would be impolite for him to open the door.

"Shall we hear what news he has?" the Counsellor inquired, " - I'm sure he's in dire need of hearing ours..."

Mutely, Thoronhael nodded and pulled open the door to the small room with a half-bow to the steward's son.

"My lord - come in; what is it, and what tidings do you bring?"
Eärendils_Beloved
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 06, 2006 03:17
"I certainly never expected the council to be hostile. Never in the whole history of Gondor has our ruler been one so young, but you are still of the house of Telcontar, and so it is your right and duty to rein over us. I do realize that this may be very difficult at such a time, but if you would consider giving an address to the council; it could affirm your rightful position."


Elestirnë regarded the Steward keenly for a moment longer. Harandor thought he glimpsed something of the now distant flame of life in her eyes, but when he was forced to blink it was gone again.

“My rightful position? Your words are courteous, my lord, but they are not just. Is that what you see when you look at me, sire? Your Queen? You seek for one who is departed; I am not her.”

Harandor was speechless. Was the child really so much in denial?

“But are they wrong? I am not the Lady Undómiel. I am not like Eowyn of Rohan. Nor am I the king they so desire.” Elestirnë bowed her head, as if in shame, and finished meekly, “I am not the son of Elendur who will grow to be that king.”

So that is the root of her despair…

It was not only the grief of her parent’s deaths that withered her spirit. Elestirnë blamed herself for the disaster they all teetered on the edge of. The Line of Kings that had endured the Shadow of Morgoth, the foundering of Númenor, the wrath of Sauron, and the passing of millennia had come to a pathetic end. And young Elestirnë held herself responsible.

But how had she come to such a grossly warped conclusion, when she had been so cherished all the years of her young life?

Elestirnë had turned her back on the Steward and was gazing out of the window. The window faced the Pelennor and showed the River Anduin winding like a silver ribbon across the the green land.

"Why have they not come?" she said suddenly.

Harandor struggled to comprehend the question for a moment before the child queen continued.

"Where are the message riders, my lord? Is there no word from Belfalas?" Elestirnë was nearly in tears again, as if seized by sudden panic.

"Dear Adrahil, why do you tarry? I need you..." she whispered brokenly.


((sorry this is so short, but as it's been said, dialogue doesn't leave much to write))



[Edited on 8/3/2006 by Eärendils_Beloved]
CoNFuSeD_Elessar
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 07, 2006 08:43
"My lord - come in; what is it, and what tidings do you bring?"


Beregond entered the room and answered: "I have no tidings that are of importance now, only questions....
What happened to the King, may the Valar have his soul?
Why can't Faelwen be High-Queen?
And why, for the Valars sakes, did you make a mere child High-Queen in her stead?"

Beregond fired away those questions, his temperament raising like always and added: "I must see my father, he must at least see the foolishness of Elestirne being put on the throne. Where is he?"

Both Falamir and Thoronhael looked a bit uncomfortable with his questions, but he was waiting with his usual impatience for answers, answers he wanted quickly...

[OOC: it is indeed very difficult to make long posts in conversational form, hope this will do, to get a bit further at least.]
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 08, 2006 02:24
Thoronhael visibly paled as Beregond entered with a face like thunder and began asking probing questions, one after another.

What happened to the King, may the Valar have his soul?
Why can't Faelwen be High-Queen?
And why, for the Valars sakes, did you make a mere child High-Queen in her stead?"

He swallowed hard.

"You have not heard, then?" the scholar queried. "The king was... killed barely a week ago. They say it was a hunting accident. [OOC: Did I get that right? Now that I come to think of it, the cause of his death was never really specified...] But as it is, the late Queen Faelwen... she committed suicide upon recieving news of his Highness' death. I saw it myself - she threw herself over the edge of the citadel courtyard."

He trailed off here - the memory was still fresh and raw. Every now and then Thoronhael would still be haunted by images of Faelwen's face turning ashen pale on the news, and then it was almost as if he had witnessed all the life leaving her. As one already dead she had walked, trancelike, to the edge of the drop. He had not suspected anything yet, but then in a single movement too unanticipated and too quick for him to prevent, she had taken the leap and... He remembered the feeling of desperation and helplessness as he moved too late, found himself grasping at thin air and watching her limp figure receding into the maze of streets below him, and then it took a few more seconds after she... hit the ground before the ominous dull thud came echoing up the prepice... He had stood there for a long while, motionless as below him, people gathered like... ants on a sugar lump left on the floor... Thoronhael was only thankful he had never gotten to see the body - the streets were too far below, and they had later taken Faelwen's body straight up Rath Dinen.

He had been waking in the middle of the night to the sound of that very dull thud. And to think he could have prevented it! If only he had taken her aside before he had told her. Or perhaps not told her outright. Or if he had been faster.

If only.
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 08, 2006 08:34
Thoronhael visibly paled as Beregond entered with a face like thunder and began asking probing questions, one after another.

What happened to the King, may the Valar have his soul?
Why can't Faelwen be High-Queen?
And why, for the Valars sakes, did you make a mere child High-Queen in her stead?"

He swallowed hard.

"You have not heard, then?" the scholar queried. "The king was... killed barely a week ago. They say it was a hunting accident. But as it is, the late Queen Faelwen... she committed suicide upon recieving news of his Highness' death. I saw it myself - she threw herself over the edge of the citadel courtyard."

Falamir gripped the scholar's shoulder briefly, knowing how upset *he* would have been to actually witness... and Thoronhael's grief was both real, and all-too-apparent.

Turning to the Steward's youngest son, the Counsellor from Anfalas watched Beregond keenly. "You see," he spoke quietly, but firmly, "With both her parents now gone, Elestirnë is now Gondor's Queen." No mention of the 'division' within the Council did Falamir make, for in his eyes, there should be none.

"She is young," he went on, "but will do well - once she can put her grief behind her," and Falamir was confident this was so. And, hoping to bring Thoronhael out of his despondency just a bit, "Prince Adrahil has been sent for," the Counsellor added. "I am sure that when he arrives, that will do much for Her Majesty's peace of mind. I should think the messenger will have reached Dol Amroth by now," Falamir finished, and, encouraged by the thought, "And, perhaps, he is already on his way. The man we sent was told to go at his mount's best speed."

"Until then," he stated, "We can but give Elestirnë as much support as we are able. She needs steadfast friends behind her. Do you agree?" Falamir asked both the other men. The scholar he was certain would do so, but as for Beregond... the Counsellor could only wait for the man to answer...


[Edited on 8/3/2006 by gwendeth]
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 09, 2006 08:43
"In my opinion, Elestirne isn't ready to be queen yet, she is far too young for that. Next to that, There should be at least a King, too. For the King is the Supreme Commander of Gondor's and Arnor's armies. Seeing Elestirne's age, there won't be a King by her side for years." Beregond answered Falamir. After that he stayed silent, thinking...

...Actually, he shouldn't discuss this subject before he had seen his father. Maybe he would understand. It isn't Beregond disliked Elestirne and she would probably make a good Queen one day, but not for the next couple of years and certainly not unmarried. He had to go find his father quickly. There were business to be dealt with that fell under the King's juridiction, like large movement of troops. Allthough this probably isn't a good time for this, it still needed attending to and preferably fast. Especially now the King and queen are death, the problem might grow worse: there could be mutiny and desertion along the border garrisons, which were already downhearted and bored. Bored soldiers are always dangerous. the news of the King's death would soon reach them and if it wasn't swiftly followed by good news, he could only guess what would happen. They really needed a strong King, as fast as possible...

...Beregond only spoke again to say: "Well, I have to go find my father now, I will speak to you later, at the council or on another occasion. Greetings."

After that, Beregond left the room and searched the palace for his father...

[OOC: still sub standard in length, but it will better ]

[Edited on 9/3/2006 by CoNFuSeD_Elessar]
Hainima
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 09, 2006 01:24
Amlach, the councillor from Lamedon, walked slowly back to his house in Minas Tirith. During the council meeting he had listened to the arguments raging round the table without showing any preference for either side.
He had served the house of the Telcontari for nearly 10 years, ever since he left the army and had been chosen by the other chiefs of Lamedon as their spokesman on the royal council. He had served the late king faithfully, he would have served a son of the king but he was unsure about the prospect of such a young girl wearing the winged crown. He thought of his own daughter, much of an age with Elestirne, and how she was happy with her playthings and her animals. This was how a young girl should pass her time, he believed, not worrying about affairs of state. If Elestirne had been older and married, so her husband could advise her then he, Amlach, would have supported her.
At home in Lamedon no young girl would expect to rule. An older woman might have a place amongst the leaders, especially if she was skilled in herblore. If he sent messages back to Calembel that Gondor and, hence, Lamedon were ruled by a girl of twelve there could be trouble. He knew Elestirne had been trained for her role but he still had strong doubts.
However, he was one of the council. He would listen, have his say and see how the decision fell. If the majority were in support of the new queen then he would accept that and then persuade the people of Lamedon to accept it too. After all, there had been other occasions when his people had been wary of the royal council’s decisions and he had been able to sway their opinions. If only he could convince himself.

Amlach wished his wife was in Minas Tirith. It would be good to have her support and advice. She was at home in Calembel with their daughter. His only family in Minas Tirith was his son, Peredur and he could not discuss important state business with such an irresponsible boy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peredur had found the days since the king’s death dull. The sombre mood in the court prohibited games and music and he had no duties to keep him occupied. As one of the pages he had been part of the cortege at the funeral. Perhaps he would have some duties for the new queen, although nobody seemed to know where she was or what would happen next. He had heard the raised voices in the council meeting but then the council were usually arguing about something and most of them, especially his father, were too fond of the sound of their own voices. Normally, the only thing that ended a council meeting was the dinner hour. For him that meant standing round watching the councillors eat and drink whilst he went hungry. The pages couldn’t eat until the king and his councillors had finished their meat.
A year ago he would have been expected to sing for them whilst they ate. Now he still played the lute but nobody wanted to hear him sing. Elestirne had liked his singing. He could have sung for her but she would only laugh at his voice.

He wandered off in search of food and a companion, perhaps somebody to go for a ride with, practise sword-fighting or, at least, somebody to talk to about the mood that prevailed in the city. His father could tell him what was happening, why the council were shouting so much and where the new queen was, but his father never told him anything.

[OOC: Intro for Amlach and Peredur - just to get them into the story.]
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 11, 2006 12:55
The night was approaching. Aerandir, the eldest son of the Steward, stood by the window of his office in the Palace and watched the city far below rise for the night's life. Somehow, everything seemed to be more... slow? He couldn't quite place the word. The usual restlessness was gone, as if the whole capital were mourning with the household of the Place and the your Queen Elestirne.

Darkness was falling, and Aerandir thought it could well be that there was a night similar to this, that was closing in for the entire country. He frowned. Aer could clearly see the upcoming crisis that could tear the entire Gondor apart. And not only that. Gondor's weakness would deeply wound its neighbours that depended so much on its strength and stability that had been brought by King Elessar and had not been shaken for four hundred years.

But now, this stability was questioned. And would be questioned. And every weakness was to be used by Gondor's enemies. Aer had no doubts whatsoever about that. No wonder his brow was shadowed.

Deep in his thoughts, he didn't her the door open. A delicate cough behind him brought him back from his pessimistic thoughts.

"Yes?"

"The Royal Guard, as you ordered, sir!" the black-clad guardsman reported. On his velvet tunic the silver image of the White Tree shone, and his epaulettes indicated him to be a Leutenant.

"Thank you, Dragil," Aer nodded and waited for the
eighteen men to enter. They stood in one line, all straight and ready, but their faces grim and depressed. Aer could very well understand them. Some of them had served as body guards for the late King and Queen. Those who had witnessed the King's unexpected death were still being questioned, as well as those who had been present at the Queen's suicide. The rest was there, missing only tho honorary guard by the tombs, and those two that were on their duty near the Queen Elestirne.

"First of all - I wanted to thank you for your faithful service," Aer begun, feeling an inner need to say something positive to the men," and I assure you that none of you will be released from your duties even though there will not be the same... demand... for yor services anymore." He saw the shoulders of the men relax slightly. Surely they had been fearing their own uncertain destiny, just as they were mourning for their Rulers. "From this day on, the body guard of Queen Elestirne will be doubled. She is very prescious to the country, for the people... for us. And it is important that we keep her safe and unharmed," Aer was pacing slowly back and forth along his table and the line of the men, his hands clasped together behind his back, avoiding their intense looks. But now he stopped and looked deep into the eyes of every man in front of him. "Watch her, as if she were the apple of your eye! Never let her go where you can't follow. And, if you can't - find out a way to still do that! Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the men responded with determination. They considered the loss of their Rulers their own failure, and they were determined not to fail again.

"Good!" Aer felt his own tense shoulders relax. "Leutenant Dragil will select those of you that are to join the men already on duty. One pair is to stay just outside the Queen's personal quarters, the other at the end of the passage. The additional guard is to remain in the Queen's quarters even when she is away and not to permit any unauthorised person's entering. This is all. Dismissed."

The guards saluted him and left, looking more lively than they had been just a couple of minutes ago. Aer sighed. Dragil would inform the men doing the honour guerd, he himself had decided to talk to the two by the Queen's side at the moment. Also because he was worried about Elestirne. Rurning abruptly, Aer exited his office, heading to Ele's rooms. The man's elegant garb flowed beautifully behind him. Even clad in black because of the mourning, Aer managed to look impressive and respectable, and his clothing clearly was expensive and exclusive. Aer had chosen the Royal guard's uniform as the basic pattern for his costume, still it was far from being a uniform.
We still remember, we who dwell In this far land, beneath the trees The starlight on the Western seas...
In the Realm of Ulmo
gwendeth
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 14, 2006 07:00
(( I'll delete this later, too - but it looks like the OOC thread was somehow deleted. I know I read it and backed out of it earlier. ))
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 14, 2006 08:35
I deleted EB's double post last night but went back to read/mark it so I know it was still there last night. And Confused Elessar and Gwendeth apparently read it this morning so it was still there then.

I know it's painful to lose so much info but we should all be grateful in some small way. At least it wasn't the main thread.

Unfortunately, there seems to be no way to find it or recover it. *sighs*
Life is good! Live it to the fullest. Love well those near and dear. "You cannot step into the same river twice, for the waters are ever flowing on ....." Heraclitus I Aear cân ven na mar
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 17, 2006 08:05
Elestirnë had turned her back on the Steward and was gazing out of the window. The window faced the Pelennor and showed the River Anduin winding like a silver ribbon across the green land.

"Why have they not come?" she said suddenly.

Harandor struggled to comprehend the question for a moment before the child queen continued.

"Where are the message riders, my lord? Is there no word from Belfalas?" Elestirnë was nearly in tears again, as if seized by sudden panic.

"Dear Adrahil, why do you tarry? I need you..." she whispered brokenly.


The Steward could just barely understand Elestirnë's last, whispered words. He was still coming to terms with the despair that she had just expressed, then her abrupt switch to near panic over Prince Adrahil. Suddenly the Steward realized that he did not have an answer to her questions. He had believed that Dol Amroth would have sent riders as soon as the message about the king's death was received, and that Prince Adrahil would come in person swiftly afterward. But now Elestirnë's questions reminded him of something that he had been momentarily pondering before the council convened: Assuming normal traveling conditions, any riders from Dol Amroth should have arrived the day before yesterday. At first Harandor had thought that the messengers must have been held up slightly by the incessant rains, but by this morning he had certainly started to wonder a bit. Why were there no riders? It was a question that he had found difficult to answer, at least for the time being.

Then Harandor remembered that Elestirnë had asked him the question. "Word from Belfalas?" he repeated, "No, no one has come in, my Queen. No messengers; no word at all." The Steward paused, and then admitted, "I am not certain why. Some have the opinion that the exceptional rainfall over this last week has slowed travel somewhat. But being at least two days late seems to be unexplainable for me... but I have been wrong before."

"Adrahil, he would not allow himself to be delayed." Elestirnë spoke, just above a whisper. Her voice seemed to have lost it's earlier edge of panic, but she still sounded desperate and frightened. Then her expression seemed to calm just a little bit, and she turned back from the window and looked at the Steward. "Why must you always talk in circles?" she asked. For just a moment, Elestirnë's grey eyes seemed to regain a touch of their old silvery luminosity, but them faded again. Elestirnë turned back toward the window. "Why does he not come?" she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Harandor stood silently for awhile, trying to decide what would be the best thing to say, if indeed he should speak at all. The Steward was used to speaking to and dealing with adult men, not a young girl who seemed sunk to the depths of depression and despair. Harandor felt that he had done nothing to help her, and had ultimately been unsuccessful in his mission. He had failed to give counsel that Elestirnë would heed, and it appeared that she would not address the council. But why the references to Adrahil?

The Steward was abruptly startled out of his thoughts by a distant rumble that could only signal the approach of another rainstorm. This was the way that it had been ever since that dreadful night when they brought King Elendur's broken body to the gates of Minas Tirith. As the silent, torch-lit procession had wound it's way slowly up the seven levels, a sudden rainstorm had broken that extinguished the lights. Ever since then the rains had come often, almost as if the heavens themselves were shedding tears for the High King. Harandor looked over Elestirnë; out the window at the overcast sky and wondered where these events would all end. "I take my leave." he said slowly, then bowed slightly, although the girl was still turned away from him. As the Steward turned and walked away he could not help but feeling burdened and depressed. It seemed that he had done little good, and perhaps no good at all.
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 19, 2006 02:56
Elestirnë listened to the sound of the Steward’s footsteps retreating down the corridor, leaving her alone once more. She wanted to call after him, to beg him not to leave, but she knew it was childish. And though no one had said it outright, Elestirnë knew that her childhood was over.

It was all so confusing. Hundreds surrounded her, but she was completely alone. No one would look her in the eye, but she felt the stares of many follow her every move. No one spoke plainly to her, if they addressed her at all, instead talking over her head, about her, as if they thought she was deaf. And still they called her Queen!

With halting steps, she left the study through a side door and entered the dim, empty hallway. She could see the dark forms of two Citadel guards at the end of the passage, but feigned indifference.

Her steps quickened noticeably as she passed the now closed and barred doors of the royal bedchamber and hurried to her own room, closing the heavy door behind her.

She made up her mind to find her family, or such as she had left. If Adrahil would not come to her, she would go to him. Her mother’s kin would not treat her coldly; she was sure of it. The Prince of Dol Amroth would not abandon her; something must be detaining him.

Kneeling as the foot of her bed, Elestirnë opened an ornately carved trunk. Rifling through its contents, the girl tossed out books, various bobbles, and a gray wool blanket before finding what she was looking for. She removed the large folded parchment and spread it out on her bed.

It was a map of Middle-Earth. Originally kept in the great library, the expertly drawn map had been gifted to the young princess when the cartographer saw the twinkle in her eyes at the sight of it. Decorative as well as accurate, the map featured hand-tinted, life-like representations of geographical features as well as landmarks.

The forest and rivers shown in rich hues of green and blue, and the tiny drawing of Edoras featured gold leaf, while Orthanc and Minas Tirith shown in opposing shades of black and white.

Elestirnë stared at the map, her eyes flickering back and forth between Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth. The distance seemed so small on the map, yet took a nearly a week to make the trip at the leisurely pace they had always taken during summer excursions.

But if she rode through the night…

The child-queen jumped at the sudden sound that came from the circles of the city down below: the evening bells were tolling. The gates would begin shutting by the end of the hour. If she didn’t leave soon, she would be locked within the city until dawn.

Changing into a simple black frock, the girl tied her hair back in a long braid and pulled a riding cloak over her shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror told her that nothing glittered on her garb. No royal adornments were there to betray her identity once her hood hid her face.

Folding the map, Elestirnë placed it in a pouch that hung on her belt, along with a small bundle of healing herbs and a clay whistle she used to call her little hunting falcon, Sulimë.

She burdened herself with nothing else, afraid to give the impression that she was going anywhere.

Elestirnë’s first thought was to sneak out through the basement passage of the archives in the library, but when she opened the door and saw again the guards keeping watch at the end of the hall, she thought better of it.

Closing the door again, she set about pulling down the draperies and tapestry hangings around her bed.

A quarter of an hour later, Elestirnë had lowered herself out of her bedroom window. Hiding in the shadow of the Palace walls, she waited for the changing of the guard and slipped out of the courtyard and down the steps to the first of seven gates she would pass on her long trek down to First Level stables where her horse waited.

No one took much notice of the small shrouded figure that wove through the streets, but as she passed the third gate, the child grew nervous. The wind picked up, tearing at her cloak and the low-flung black banners that hung on every flagpole in the city. She had never walked alone from the sumit of the city, through the streets to the plains below and it wasn't long until she found herself wandering lost and out of breath. Lamps had been blown out by the wind, so the only light she had was the intermittant flashes of lightening.

Thus, she was shocked when she collided witha passerby and landed sprawled on the stones, only to look up and recognize the face of the lad.

"Perendur!" she gasped, "You have to help me!" Even as the girl spoke, the bells tolled again in warning. "I've got to get down to the stables..."


[Edited on 21/3/2006 by Eärendils_Beloved]
Hainima
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 20, 2006 02:09

Thus, she was shocked when she collided witha passerby and landed sprawled on the stones, onto look up and recognize the face of te lad.

"Perendur!" she gasped, "You have to help me!" Even as the girl spoke, the bells tolled again in warning. "I've got to get down to the stables..."


Peredur looked at the girl without recognising her at first. She’d changed from the laughing princess he remembered from a week earlier. However, he could see the determination in her eyes.

“My lady, where are you going? What are you doing out alone?” he asked.

“Peredur? I have to leave. I won’t tell you where, but for the love of Gondor you must help me.” Elestirne hoped she could trust the boy. He’d seen and recognised her so it was too late to do anything else. If she ran from him he would run after her and that might attract the attention of the guards. In the past he had been kind to her. She knew her father had thought well of him. She was also unsure of being able to saddle her horse by herself.

“Lady, I will help you,” replied Peredur. “Come, I’ll help you with your horse. Quick, before they shut the gates.”

They slipped quietly along the streets, trying to keep out of sight. Peredur tried to discover where Elestirne was going but she refused to tell him. When they reached the stables, Peredur reached for the saddle and bridle then paused.

“Wait, if they see your saddle is missing, they’ll know you’ve gone and come after you. I’ll fetch my second saddle. It will fit your horse if I put a thick saddlecloth under it. Then I’ll saddle my horse and we’ll be off. ”

“No, Peredur. You stay here. I’m going alone.” Elestirne was determined.

“You need an escort, Lady. You shouldn’t ride alone. Please let me come with you.”

As he looked at Elestirne, he sensed that she was in earnest. She was determined to go, and to go alone. He realised that all he was doing was wasting time. He would not be allowed to go with her and trying to dissuade her would only increase her chances of being caught. Reluctantly, he accepted her decision, fetched his spare saddle and two apples and some biscuit from his box. He saddled the horse and led the animal out for her.

“As you wish, Lady,” he said, trying not to sound too grudging. “I will not tell anybody what has happened, I swear. They'll think that your horse must have escaped; some very careless page probably failed to shut the door properly. It has happened before.” He smiled and Elestirne knew that he would keep her secret and, if necessary, take the blame for her horse escaping.

Peredur helped the young queen into the saddle, checked her girth for her, gave her the food and stood back to watch her ride away. She smiled down at him and thanked him. He turned back into the city and headed back towards the citadel, keeping out of sight.

Now he knew where the queen was, even if he didn’t know where she was going. He could hazard a guess but he would not tell anybody.

He was really hungry now...
gwendeth
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: March 27, 2006 01:35
As thunder rolled across the sky, Falamir sighed, and clapped Thoronhael on the back. "There is nothing can be done tonight," he told the Scholar. "We shall see what the morrow brings."

Bidding Thoronhael a good night, the Counselor from Anfalas headed for his assigned rooms at the Palace, and readied himself for bed.

Yet... the continuing rumbles kept him awake... they sounded 'ominous', as if 'presaging' a darkness 'outside' of the uncertainty that already was gripping Minas Tirith... and the pounding rain 'echoed' oddly without Falamir's window.

For some time, the man tossed... and turned... and then finally 'gave up' trying to sleep.

Resignedly, Falamir rose, and spent the rest of the night writing out 'notes' on yesterday's abortive Council-meeting... and wondering if today's would be any 'different'...

(( ok... not much, but hopefully will get us moving a bit! ))
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
tawar_meldis
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: April 02, 2006 09:12
(ooc- I did post to the ooc before it was lost, but I didnt get back before it was lost. If there are problems let me know.)

Earendil or Gwalothurein, she has been answering to both for about 400 years. It was only about 20 years after the war when she had met here husband Bellason and Ellassar, then king of gondor. With every generation of his children passing it still hurt her.

The elven couple did not live with in the white city. During peaceful times, as they had know for some time, there was no great need for her husband. He had fought in the war and was in Minis Thirith when they had met.

The couple had not left middle earth with the majority of elves, Gwal could not leave the place were her parents were buried.

Now with another son of Ellassar's passing the rain would not stop. It was very forboding. The news had came from the rider on his way to Dol Amroth, It had taken the rider under a day to reach them and had left again with in half an hour of his stopping.

Gwal did not know why the rain kept up but it did go with the gloomy mood.

The two elves settled in for the night. There home was sturdy and dry. They were spending a good amount of time remember Ellassar and his desendants.
Nifredil
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: April 03, 2006 03:19
Aerandir had a very bad sleep that night. He kept waking up time after time, a million different thoughts running through his mind and never even pausing to give him some rest. The most important question that did not have the answer yet was - how they were going to keep Gondor one and whole, and strong. Finally, Aer decided to get up, although dawn was still far away.

Aer streched with a soft moan. His neck was stiff, and his muscles sore. For a moment he sat on the bed, longing for a massage, then stood up and went to the window. Aer opened it, and a rush of cold wind entered his room, playing with the curtains. It was still raining, although just barely. Aer enjoyed the few raindrops that fell on his burning forehead. The air outside was clean and fresh, as it usually was after rainstorms, and the man inhaled it deeply.

~~~~~

The Queen's quarters were dark and quiet. Two guards were standing alert at the very entrance of her rooms, other two were having a quiet conversation just to keep themselves awake outside their child-Queen's bedchamber. Nobody had heard or noticed anything during her escape.
We still remember, we who dwell In this far land, beneath the trees The starlight on the Western seas...
In the Realm of Ulmo
Hainima
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: April 03, 2006 07:14
Amlach tossed and turned in his bed. He was suffering from indigestion. This often happened these days, especially when he was under stress. He got up and poured himself a cup of wine. He could hear the storm and the rain beating on the roof of his lodging. It was a rough night to be out.

He stood looking into the cup as if hoping to see the answer to his dilemma. He wanted peace and prosperity for Lamedon and for Gondor. He couldn’t see how a child queen, hiding away in her chamber, as this one seemed to be, could bring peace. He knew the Haradrim would be on the march as soon as word reached them. Gondor needed a strong ruler. Gondor deserved a strong ruler. Tomorrow, in the council meeting, he would press for that decision. Some of the others, men from the wealthier regions, might agree with Elestirne’s rule but he would support any move to set aside the child and appoint a regent.

He glanced out of the window and thought he saw a boy slipping quietly along the dark street. “Peredur, or one of those disreputable oafs he calls friends,” he muttered. “Up to some mischief no doubt. I should have kept the boy in Lamedon to learn to work for a living. He should be training as a soldier, not wasting his time sneaking round the streets and disturbing the king’s peace.” He stressed the “king’s”.

(Amlach did not want to admit that he had worked hard to get the appointment and training for Peredur. Nor was he certain that the boy he had seen was his son.)

He finished the wine and returned to his bed. He felt that he had reached a decision. He wondered if he would be alone but doubted it. There had been several others voicing the same opinion. He had heard that Beregond had returned and he was sure, from what he knew of the Steward’s younger son, that he would not accept the child queen. If only King Elendur had not died so suddenly. If only his baby son had lived. If only, if only...
He fell into a restless and unrefreshing sleep and woke with the dawn and the first sounds of life in the city.
Sirithros_Lirenel
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: April 11, 2006 11:48
[OOC: Blockaded. All of my darn thought processes... Handmaid's Tale is one DRAINING english literature text. *Anyway*, hope this post is okay and gets things moving!]

He awoke early, as usual. Well, perhaps not "awoke". "Rose" would probably have been a more accurate description - Thoronhael had slept barely a wink, what with his worries, compounded with the noise of the storm that had raged itself through the night and even now, in the pre-dawn haze of grey mist and half-light, wept a light drizzle upon the white city. The air was cool - chilly, even, and he shuddered slightly as he dressed. By nature the scholar was not an early-riser, having been made more to stay up half the night and sleep off half the morning, but ever since he had taken on the task of tutoring Elestirnë...

"Moping around like the theoretical wet blanket is not going to help anyone," he muttered wryly to himself as he set about putting his small room in order for the coming day. "Although I still fail to see how it is that wet blankets mope, seeing as they're more likely to be hung out and billowing on somebody's washing line. Perhaps "wet wool" would be a better description... I certainly feel something like that now. All clumped and heavy and tangled..."

Moments later the door clicked shut behind him as Thoronhael moved softly down the corridor to the entrance to the late Royal Family's quarters. Guards had been posted there. Etiquette prevented him from entering the chambers, and the guards probably would have done so too if he so intended, so he stopped just short of the great double doors. He knew one of the guards - not well, not even as a friend, but they had studied together for a time and they were at least on amiable speaking terms. [OOC: Don't know if that was suitable or not, but I had to give Thoronhael a reason to speak to him since he couldn't have just barged into the royals' private rooms like that.]

"Has the Queen risen yet?" he inquired politely. "She is usually awake already at this hour."
Hainima
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Post RE: *I Súre Naina: The Wind is Crying...*(see OOC)
on: May 14, 2006 12:59
[ooc: just want to keep some action going on this. Peredur may not be the best person to come in here but Thoronhael's been waiting for the guard to answer for far too long.]

The guard remained unmoving. "We have seen no sign of her," he replied.

Thoronhael turned as he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't know who he expected to see but was rather disappointed to see Peredur. The page wouldn't have heard any news. The late king's pageboys were not likely to be attending the young queen this early in the morning. It was a change Thoronhael had not realised before. The queen would need a different retinue from her father's.

Peredur looked at the scholar. The young man looked very tired, as if he had not slept. Peredur had been up most of the night but felt alert. After all, he knew something nobody else knew. "Master Thronhael, you look unwell. Did the storm bother you?" He grinned. "I'm going to find some breakfast. Are you hungry? There may be some news in the hall. I don't think you'll get anything from these guards. They wouldn't tell us if the queen was awake, even if they knew. Which," he said, making sure he was out of reach, "they probably don't."

Without waiting for Thronhael's reply, or the cuff from the guard, Peredur headed off down the corridor towards the hall. There was a welcome smell of food coming from there. At this hour, many of the citadel's inhabitants would be gathering for breakfast, news and gossip. Even members of the council often came to breakfast in the main hall; eating at their own table but there to be seen and approached. He walked a few more yards, then he paused and waited, looking back to see if the tutor was following.
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