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Eärendils_Beloved
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Post *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 09, 2009 10:51
((Here we go! The following is a joint post between Eärendils_Beloved and BerethEdhellen.))

Dol Amroth

Elestirnë closed her book with a resigned sigh. I can’t hide in the library forever.

Tomorrow was Midsummer's Day, the grandest holiday of the year, and the whole city of Dol Amroth was busy with preparations. She’d spent the greater part of the day in the library to stay away from the bustle, catnapping in the sunlight from the reading room’s high windows.
Tomorrow was also Elestirnë’s eighteenth birthday, a day the young royal would have gladly ignored. It carried a weight and significance she couldn’t escape from, try as she may. That is why she sought sanctuary here; she couldn’t bear the look of expectation in everyone’s eyes. She needed time alone to think.

Although she was still Queen of Gondor in a legal sense, since removing herself from the capital Elestirnë had insisted that no one refer to her as queen. Dutifully, the people of Dol Amroth consented, calling her aranel as they had when she was small, or referring to her as Lady Elestirnë. Yet the people were not too shy to admit that they would once again call her queen when she came of age. But Elestirnë knew it was more than a title. When the festivities were over, they fully expected her to depart for Minas Tirith and resume her place as Ruler of Gondor and Arnor.

Rising slowly, Elestirnë replaced the book and left the library. Avoiding the busy thoroughfare, she took a meandering route through back roads and alleys toward the sprawling cliffside home of Prince Adrahil, lord of that province, and her dearest friend. Adrahil would expect to see her at the evening meal, and this might well be one of the last times that they would be together.


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


Adrahil had been out on a hunting party all afternoon but had left the group to finish their day on their own. He had other plans for the evening and rode back to his beautiful manor house on the cliff overlooking the sea. Handing over his reins to the stable boy with a smile and a reminder to brush his steed down before he was fed and watered, he slipped quietly into the lower level of the house and through the hallways to the kitchen. There he met with housekeeper and the cook to arrange this evening's dinner.

He knew Elestirnë would be expecting a large celebration, with all the members of the court in attendance. He wondered if she would be surprised to find there would only be the two of them sharing their meal. He took the time with the housekeeper and the cook to arrange the full birthday celebration she would expect for the following day, Midsummer's Day, but tonight he had something to tell the lovely child grown into a beautiful young woman, something that might change both their lives forever.

Thus, the arrangements were made. "The small round table, I think. On the terrace. Simple food and excellent wine. Oh, and Lainae," he spoke directly to the cook, "her favorite dessert, the custard cake, if you will...with a decanter of miruvor." Smiles crossed the faces of both the women which they tried, unsuccessfully, to hide from the young Prince only to find he was smiling back at them as well. Excusing himself, he left to go to his room to bathe and dress for the most important night of his life.


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

Back in her bedchamber, Elestirnë undid her braids with trembling fingers, letting her hair fall in dark waves down to her elbows. Her heart and mind were racing. She had donned one of her favorite gowns, made of gracefully draped linen dyed in the graduated colors of spring twilight. Now she stood before the mirror, staring back at her own anxious reflection and wondering if she had indeed gone mad, wondering if what she was about to do was really anything more than an act of desperation. In her heart, she knew it was more than that, but her timing certainly didn’t paint that picture. A sharp knock at the door made the girl jump.

"M’lady, the Prince awaits you on the terrace," said servant from the hall.

Elestirnë opened the door, smiling warmly at the man to hide her anxiety.

"I’m coming," she said. The servant bowed low, and left down the hall.

As she walked down the corridor, her pulse slowed a little. She needn’t panic; she would have the whole meal to think and plan her words carefully. She would wait to approach Adrahil after their guests were gone.When Elestirnë reached the seaside terrace on which they ate in fair weather, she expected to see the long banquet table piled high with a grand meal and surrounded by chairs for a dozen or so dinner guests. This is not what she found.

Instead of a banquet table and chairs, she saw a small, low table, surrounded with cushions and set for two. The warm breeze from the ocean blew toward her, bringing to her the smells of the few, savory dishes on the table. The meal was simple. She saw a small roast, a bowl piled high with choice spring greens, a decanter of wine, and a honeyed loaf studded with fruit. She marveled quietly at the small bounty. Even in the Prince’s household, the meals of the last week had been meager, to reserve the choicest foods for the upcoming celebration.
Her eyes still dancing with a dozen questions, Elestirnë looked up to see Adrahil approaching from the balcony.

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

"This one, m'lord? It is suitable for the evening," the frustrated servant offered yet another outfit to the Prince, who seemed unable to decide anything this night.

"Oh, what matters it what I wear? That will be fine," Adrahil mumbled, pacing the floor and already on the terrace in his mind. He finally dressed in long black leggings, a forest green tunic that turned his sea colored eyes more green than gray and was emblazoned with the white swan ship emblem of the house of Dol Amroth. He slipped into knee high black boots, shined to high gloss, and tied his long black hair back with a leather strip. His heart was pounding in his chest as he left the room, headed for the terrace.

Stopping only briefly to ask a servant to tell the Lady Elestirnë to meet him on the terrace, he went to library first. Once there, he pulled a key from his neck and unlocked a carved wooden cabinet, reaching inside to remove a small scrolled parchment which he tucked under his tunic. Only then did he continue on to the terrace, and his meeting with the young Queen.

He took the steps down from the balcony to the slated floor below and stopped in his tracks as he beheld Elestirnë standing by the stone wall that surrounded the terrace. Her long dark hair fell in soft waves down her back, her slender body was clad in soft blues, greens and yellows and when her soft, dove gray eyes met his, his heart leapt in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he strolled towards her, taking her hand and leading her to the table.

"Good evening, m'lady. Will you join me for dinner?" They both sat, side by side, and he poured her a glass of wine before they began to partake of the delicious meal before them.

Despite the delicious looks and smells of the food before her, Elestirnë had no appetite suddenly.
She toyed with her food as she made polite inquiries about Adrahil’s day and tried to gather her wits. But she could hear herself talking, and the words sounded so inane that she was embarrassed at herself. Slowly and deliberately, Elestirnë drained her wine goblet and set it down. Even as she began to speak, she found it impossible to look Adrahil in the eye.

"Adrahil, I mean to ask you something. I…I only ask that you speak up at once if you think me daft."

She paused and looked out at the declining sun, trying to calm her racing heart. Turning back, she continued, haltingly.

"My days here are short. I only wonder if…do you think you could…I mean, is there a way we could stay together? Could you ever see me as your…"

Puzzled, Adrahil listened as she stumbled along, trying most obviously to say something important to her but failing miserably. Still, even with the anxious wrinkles on her forehead and her fumbling words, she was charming. His brow lifted and the corners of his lips quirked as he attempted to hide a smile.

"When have you ever been known to mince words, Lessa," he asked, using his life-long pet name for her. "Spit it out, child," biting his lip as soon as the word 'child' left his lips. The beautiful young woman before him was no longer a child and she was seriously attempting to tell...or ask...him something. He did not wish to inhibit her. Instead, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

"Come, Lessa, whatever it is, you can tell me."

The girl blushed furiously at his touch but didn't pull away. Instead, she looked at him with sudden gravity.

"You know that our houses have always been linked...since my father chose Faelwen of Dol Amroth for his queen. I think, perhaps, Gondor would be stronger....if the bond remained...they trust you..."

Her voice trailed off lamely. She couldn’t finish, and she prayed silently that Adrahil’s old habit of reading her mind would not fail her tonight.

Adrahil watched her face closely, trying to discern her meaning, when it suddenly struck him. He felt the laughter bubbling up inside him and he fought to appear serious, even though his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"My dear lady, are you attempting to ask me to marry you?"

The quaver was gone from her voice when she answered.

"Yes." She spoke that word with more conviction than anything she'd said yet. "Now, tell me I have not made a fool of myself for saying so."

She studied his face for a sign that she had misspoken. His expression revealed little, but she saw a light in his eyes that made her heart leap with hope. She herself did not smile, but held her breath. Adrahil gazed into her eyes for a long silent moment before the laughter finally burst to the surface. He laughed until he lost his breath before catching the look on her face.

"Oh, Lessa, Lessa....I am not laughing at you, my dear. Hopefully you will laugh with me when you hear what I have to tell you."

Reaching inside his tunic, he pulled out the scroll, laying it on the table between them.

"You might have waited until dessert, you know. It was then I was planning to ask you that very question. But I don't suppose it matters which of us did the asking. What does matter, however, is more important."

He looked at her with a strangely serious expression on his handsome face.

"Elestirnë, are you asking me only as a means of joining two kingdoms and assuring your seat as Queen of Gondor?"

The girl's expression, which had twisted into one of annoyance at the Prince’s fit of laughter, now softened.

"Adrahil, do you think me so calculating? That I would marry a man for his reputation? I ask you because no man could have my heart, and the people's heart as well…none but you. Truly, I desire to be queen of your heart only, if I may rule nothing else under the sun."

She gazed down at the parchment, glad to have spoken the words that had long burdened her heart, but embarrassed to say more for now.

"What is this?" It looked like a contract, and it was far from new. The ink was faded, but she saw her father's seal at the bottom.

Adrahil took her hand in his, turning it over to kiss the palm. Smiling, he said,

"First, allow me to accept your proposal. You see, my dear, I have loved you for your entire life...first as an enchanting child and now as a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman. To know that you feel the same lightens my heart. And, to answer your query, perhaps you should read it yourself. In short, however, it is an arrangement between our parents for us to agree to wed when you came of age, which you will do on the morrow. I think I much prefer that you and I have agreed to do so on our own, and I hope you feel the same. If you are of a mind to do so, we can announce our engagement at the festivities tomorrow.”




[Edited on 13/10/2009 by Eärendils_Beloved]
Eärendils_Beloved
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 15, 2009 08:36
Minas Tirith

Amdir let out a contented sigh, blowing a cloud of blue smoke into the air. The councilman from Belfalas was not as content as he thought he ought to be, but he was glad for the chance to be away from the council, and to smoke a good pipe.

The last few weeks had been trying, even for the easygoing sailor-turned-councilor. It seemed as if the men of the High Council – all older than he – placed too much store in their ‘wisdom’ and not enough in common sense. Truth be told, age had not made these men wiser, only more stubborn.

And I’m missing the midsummer festival!

Amdir tried not to think about it, but while he was here in Minas Tirith, he was missing what would probably be the largest celebration Dol Amroth had seen in years. He would miss the laughter and smiles of his nieces and nephews, the feast of the year, and – most regrettably – a chance to dance with the radiant young sovereign. Here in the city, the observance of the midsummer holiday was subdued at best, and Amdir had not been offered a cup of ale, or a smile, from anyone.

So after another day of listening to the blow-hards in the Council, Amdir retreated to his guest quarters to smoke a pipe and enjoy the evening. He had invited Falamir of Anfalas to join him, if only to relieve what Amdir perceived as homesickness. That, and Falamir was the closest thing he had to a friend in the Citadel.

((That’s an open invitation for you, gwen. Others, check the OOC.))


[Edited on 15/10/2009 by Eärendils_Beloved]
BerethEdhellen
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 15, 2009 11:52
((A couple more openings for conversations...))

Adrahil had slept well the night before after his dinner with Elestirnë. "How strange," he thought. "It is almost as if our parents knew that we would be well matched, even at Lessa's birth." The woman he had grown to love so much loved him in return and now they would be preparing for their wedding...at least once they got past her birthday celebration and the grand announcement of their engagement today on Midsummer's Day. Chuckling to himself, he threw the light cover back and stretched his legs before dropping his feet to the floor. The sun had barely risen so it was no surprise his personal servant had not arrived with his tea yet, though as soon as his feet thudded on the floor, the door to his chambers opened. His servant was standing there with a tray in his hands.

"M'lord, you rise early. Fortunately, your tea is ready," he said, moving across the floor to the table beside Adrahil's bed, setting the tray down gently. Lifting the small pot, he poured a cup of hot tea for his master, adding two spoons of sweetener, then handing the cup to the lord of Dol Amroth.

"Corin, you never cease to amaze me," Adrahil smiled as he lifted the cup to his lips. "Today is a big day so I need to be dressed and moving quickly. There is much to do." Corin nodded in agreement and went to the great armoire in the corner, whisking out a creamy white tunic along with matching leggings in a light weight material, adding to these a soft blue shirt and knee high fawn colored leather boots. Digging into the shelves, he drew out the necessary undergarments and laid the entire outfit for his master to don when his bathing was done.

A soft knock at the door was heard and Corin raised his head, turning to Adrahil. "Your bath water has arrived, sir." Calling out, "Enter!" a pair of maidens came forth, each carrying two buckets of hot water, which they spilled into a copper vessel behind a screen. They quickly scurried from the room, quietly closing the door behind them. The young lord began to prepare for the day, one of celebration and joy. Today his Elestirnë turned eighteen and they would attend the birthday celebration together, where they would announce their decision to wed. He could already imagine the cheers from the citizens of Dol Amroth. Such an alliance was good for both them and the people of Gondor, as had been proven in the past.

They only dark spot of the day would come later, that night, when he sat Lessa down to share with her his fear that her father had not died from an errant hunting arrow, but had been intentionally slain. He wondered how she would take the news, only glad that he would be the one to tell her. But they would have to come to an agreement that he should bring a goodly number of his own personal royal guardsmen with them to Minas Tirith. He knew not who to trust in the White City and until he did, he wanted her protected by those he could.

When he was dressed and ready, he left his chambers, striding down the long hallway to Elestirnë's quarters, hoping it wasn't to early in the day to disturb her. He was hoping to break their fast together, anxious to assure himself that she hadn't changed her mind. Stopping in front of her door, he raised his hand, holding it upright for a long moment before finally knocking, waiting to hear her voice bid him 'enter'.

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

Duinhir waited patiently for Beregond to arrive. He had invited the lad to visit him in his manor house on the fifth level of the great White City. Duinhir kept this house in Minas Tirith as he enjoyed his comforts, even away from Ithilien, and wanted his own servants serving him rather than depending on those in the Citadel, where suites were offered to visiting ambassadors.

It had been another boring day at the meeting of the council members, the same arguments being offered by the same men. Those from Belfalas and Anfalas were behind the young Queen, those from many of the other regions were opposed. No one's arguments had changed thus making these meetings extremely dull. Today was deemed a short day of meeting, being Midsummer's Day, and although with the pall of indecision hovering in the air and there were few celebrations in the city, it was still recognized as a special day. Thus, he was even more bored, having the rest of the day to sit in his elegant home with nothing to do.

It was this boredom that had initiated his invitation to Beregond to come for an afternoon luncheon. He had made certain that there was sufficient wine and ale available to not only please the Steward's son, but also to soften his mind to Duinhir's influence. For indeed, Duinhir had spent many months persuading Beregond of how virtuous and legitimate was the young man's opposition to the return of the young Queen. After all, how much had she cared about her realm over the past years. No, she had departed Gondor, her tail between her legs, and had hidden out in Dol Amroth, leaving her country leaderless. Yet, Beregond, on the other hand, had continued to lead his army, protecting Gondor and the White City from harm over these years. What right did this puny child Elestirnë have to come strolling back at this late date to take over the reins of the country?

Duinhir had subtly been offering these thoughts to Beregond for some time....very successfully, he felt. The young soldier reacted more and more strongly whenever the young Queen's name was mentioned. And he, the ambassador from Ithilien, was closer and closer to his own personal goal each time the boy demonstrated his own feelings.

A servant entered the large sitting room, announcing Beregond. The handsome young man followed him into the room. Duinhir stood easily, his silken robes falling gracefully around him, and held out a hand to Beregond. "Ahhh, my boy, how good to see you. You are looking remarkably well. Come, join me for a glass of wine and tell me what is happening in your life of late."


[Edited on 17/10/2009 by BerethEdhellen]
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
Erucenindë
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 15, 2009 05:25
buh-bum. buh-bum. buh-bum. Aerandir listened to the beats of the horses' hooves on the even ground as the group slowly made its way back to Minas Tirith. They were close now - twelve hours had passed since they broke camp. Minas Tirith would be in view in a couple of hours.

It seemed as if an impending doom awaited the young soldier, though Aerandir knew not why he felt this way. Maybe not exactly doom.. he reasoned. More like dread. Why, because you might be appointed the next Steward of Gondor? some other voice seemed to argue. I just do not know if I am ready.

But if Elestirnë can rule Gondor at such a young age, you can at least be the Steward.

I know one thing for sure. If I am appointed Steward, I will rule my country with the best of my abilities till Elestirnë arrives, and hand over the rule to her in due time.

Aerandir knew this to be the final answer. No more doubts. He may not be the kind of ruler King Elessar of old was, but he could still rule with all his effort and give forth to Gondor what she needed.

The next two hours passed rather quickly for Aerandir as the 300 and some-odd men made their way to the White City. He could not help but wonder in awe at her glory everytime he saw it. Gondor needs a King and Queen to rule her. It's only right.

The men were glad to be home once more from the rigorous duty of patrol. Aerandir would have went to see his father at once, but he was quite dirty and well, rather smelly from his long absence. It would not do to come to the steward presented like this.

Aerandir properly put away his horse, brushing it down and cooling it off with water. After taking care of that, he made sure his men were properly taken care of as well. A good commander always made sure his men were put first before himself. Finally, he was free to see to his needs.

A bath and a set of fresh clothes later, and he found himself knocking on Harandor, Steward of Gondor, his father's door. It would be a good reunion at first. He had always loved his father. But what news would he expect to hear? Or would he hear anything at all?

Aerandir let out a breath of nervousness.
Sava-Tennoio
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 16, 2009 03:55
The towering white city of Minas Tirith was bustling with life when Beregond entered her gates on horseback. The flashy black mare beneath him pranced through the streets, glossy neck arched and eyes fiery. Master and beast were much alike. Although not unfriendly, Beregond had a noble pride that emmanated from him. It echoed in the stiff, straight lines of his back; it resonated in the firm creases about his lips and the graceful way he carried himself. Crowds of soldiers, commoners, men and women bowed low as horse and rider danced past.

Beregond wove his way expertly through the many levels of Minas Tirith. He spoke to no one, and communicated with his horse only with the subtlest of leg commands. At last he reached the highest level of the great white city, just as the sun rose to its full height above the city. The mare danced through the courtyard, hooves ringing sharply on the white stone beneath her. The citadel guard stood about the white tree, already at attention.

Beregond pulled the fine mare to a halt, and swung easily off her back. One of the guards quickly approached, bowing humbly.

"Lord Beregond, may I take your steed?"

Beregond stared at the man a moment, catching a flicker of awe in the man's eyes.

He nodded, and allowed a warm smile to play on his face.

"Aye, and with much thanks, my good man. Tell me, is my father at home?"

"Forgive me, sir, I am not aware of the whereabouts of the Steward," the guard replied regretfully, as if ashamed he had no answer for the Prince of Ithilien's question.

Beregond smiled once more and lay a strong hand on the man's shoulder.

"All is well. Take care to the mare, she is quite a fiesty one."

The horse snorted and tossed her head, stepping sideways away from the guard.

"Aye, sir, I will make certain she receives the best of care. Is there anything else you require, my lord?"

Beregond shook his head and handed the reins over to the guard. Patting the mare's neck fondly, the young Prince of Ithilien proceeded to enter the Citadel...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beregond strode through the hall and stopped short before a heavy wooden door. Within were the lodgings of the Steward of Gondor, Beregond's own father. On either side of the door, two Citadel Guards stood, staring straight forward. They knew well the Steward's son, and did not bar him access to the door.

As he lifted his hand to knock, the scurrying of feet down the hall stopped him. Turning, he saw a messenger racing toward him, bearing a note.

"My Lord Beregond," the poor boy gasped, bowing until his hair brushed the ground, "I bring a message from the Lord Duinhir!"

Beregond laughed at the child and took the note from his trembling hand. When the boy had managed to somewhat recover his breath, he stood staring at the Prince of Ithilien with wide eyes--awaiting a returning message, and enjoying staring at the famous son of Harandor while he was at it.

Beregond's eyes twinkled at the boy as he unfolded the letter. There was a moment of silence and then he looked back at the messenger boy.

"Tell Lord Duinhir I will come, and offer him much thanks for his invitation."

The boy nodded and darted away faster than a hunted roe. Beregond, meanwhile, turned to one of the guards.

"Is my father at home?"

"No, my lord, he left for the great hall some time ago."

Beregond frowned, now realising his predicament. He would see his father before Aerandir, but it seemed he must be away to visit the Lord Duinhir. Beregond had hoped to speek with Harandor privately before the entrance of his brother, in order to see if he could sway the elderly man in his decision. It looked as if fate would not allow this however, as to keep Duinhir waiting would be rude of the soon-to-be Steward.

Casting aside his irritation, Beregond smiled broadly at the thought.

Beregond, Steward of Gondor.

Turning away, he strode down the hall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duinhir stood easily, his silken robes falling gracefully around him, and held out a hand to Beregond. "Ahhh, my boy, how good to see you. You are looking remarkably well. Come, join me for a glass of wine and tell me what is happening in your life of late."


Beregond entered the room and smiled broadly at the Duinhir. Dipping his head, he bowed to the man and accepted the seat offered him.

"I cannot say much has passed since last we met, at least not in Ithilien. Father summoned me to the city, and I think my brother also has been called. Tell me, how long have you been in town? Is there any news of how my father will decide?"

Beregond's voice was eager, and his face more open now than most men were accustomed to seeing. Here, alone with this man who had for many years been his mentor and friend, Beregond dropped the reserved mask he usually wore.

He accepted the glass of wine offered him and settled back in the comfortable lodgings of Lord Duinhir. His travel had been long, and it felt good to rest among the cushions and finery. He took a long, slow draught of the wine and felt how pleasantly it buzzed through him.


[Edited on 16/10/2009 by Adara_Cochava]

[Edited on 17/10/2009 by Adara_Cochava]
gwendeth
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 17, 2009 08:57
((Hope this is ok for Falamir's intro - if I need to edit anything, just let me know! ))

Standing at the window of his assigned quarters, Falamir of Anfalas gazed out at… well… nothing in particular. It was Midsummer’s Day, and though he could not see the festivities going on in the stress of Minas Tirith, he could hear the sounds of them – faintly, anyway.

He sighed, thinking of the celebration that would be taking place in White Sands about now… fire pits on the beaches roasting deer and fish, children splashing in the waves and running in the sand, and the musicians seated on blankets in the sand and filling the air with their tunes and singing, and old men sitting in groups… puffing on their pipes and remembering the Revelries of Old.

Falamir brushed back a lock of his shoulder-length brown hair. He wished he was there, and not here, but such were his Duties as High Councilor in the White City.

He had not liked how the latest Council Meeting had ended… not in the least. The Queen would be returning, and it was her place to once again take up the reins of ruling her country.

Turning away, Falamir glanced at himself in the mirror. Of medium height, and though good-looking, he saw nothing ‘remarkable’ about his figure at all. – Except, he had an inner strength and conviction, and – if quiet-voiced – would not sway from the support he’d given young Elestirnë all these years.

He’d been invited to visit with Amdir this evening; a pleasant end to the frustration of the day’s meeting, and so Falamir left his rooms and strode down the corridor and round two corners to where the Councilor from Belfalas was staying. With a knock at the door, Falamir greeted the other man with a nod and a smile. The scent of pipe tobacco hung in the room, and, “Where did this batch of tobacco come from?” he inquired. “A shame the Shire was made off-limits so long ago… weren’t they rumored to grow the best?”

Sitting down with Amdir, whom Falamir truly liked, the man of Anfalas wondered if the meeting or just general chit-chat was on Amdir’s mind…
"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
Eärendils_Beloved
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 20, 2009 03:59
((The following is a joint post between Eärendils_Beloved and gwendeth.))


Dol Amroth

Elestirnë had risen before the sun, bright-eyed and light on her feet for the first time in many nights. There were many challenges still ahead of her, but she was glad to know that she would not be facing them alone. The maiden promised herself that she would put away her troubles for the day and enjoy the celebration that awaited her. This day marked the beginning – and the end – of many things, and she wanted to remember every moment.

Calling for her bath water early, and staying in it almost until the water was cold, Elestirnë let her mind wander over the events of the last five years, and farther back, to more carefree days. She would leave many friends, many possessions, and many fond places behind when she left Dol Amroth. Today was her chance to make memories she could call on to cheer her in Minas Tirith.

Two maids helped her into a gossamer, cream-colored gown. Garlanded with silken embroidery of tumbling waves and seashells, it laced up the back with two colors of ribbon. It was as much a celebration of the childhood she was leaving, as it was of the coming summer. Elestirnë smiled at her own reflection. Her expression darkened, however, when a servant appeared, bearing the jeweled coronet of the heir apparent. She had worn the crown as a symbol of her office during her brief reign. Flatly, Elestirnë dismissed it with the wave of her hand, whirling away angrily. Confused, the servant stood hapless, finally placing the crown back inside its gleaming wood chest and placing the chest on a side table when Elestirnë went out of the room.

Pushing the unwelcome sight of the crown out of her mind, Elestirnë settled herself in the sitting room to wait for Ivoreth. She would ask her beloved nurse to weave something more rustic into her hair instead.

In her small quarters nearby Elestirnë's, an old woman puttered to get herself ready for the Midsummer's Day activities. Clad in a simple gown of dark grey, Ivoreth absentmindedly twisted her long, grey hair into a bun and pinned it up. It wasn't 'neat', really, but it would 'do'.

She wondered how last night's evening had gone between her dear charge and the Prince of Dol Amroth. Ivoreth liked the young man - he'd a good head on his shoulders in her firm opinion.

But, deeming herself ready, Ivoreth scuttled out of her quarters and went to the young Queen of Gondor's. With a knock, Ivoreth peeked in to see Elestirnë in her sitting room. "Oh!" she smiled. "You look wonderful, my dear!" she prattled on, and went to take her charge's hands to pull her up for a better look.

"But," she frowned, "You do need some adornment for your hair," Ivoreth chided. "Something befitting a young Queen," the old nanny added. "I know just the thing! Now... where is that coronet box?" and her sharp brown eyes began searching for it...

“Ivoreth, please.”

The last word came forth through clenched teeth. Elestirnë walked toward the older woman grasped her by both elbows, hoping to arrest her search. When she was sure she had Ivoreth’s attention, she forced a carefree smile.

“There will be time for that, dear heart. Today, I wish to belong among the farm maids and the sea folk. The coming of summer is for every soul. Perhaps a wreath of shells or flowers instead?”

Looking hard at her charge, Ivoreth gave a 'harumph'. "Your coronet is more than appropriate for this occasion!" she replied, "As well as being the perfect adornment for your dress. - But... as you wish," the old woman reluctantly agreed.

From her own room, Ivoreth fetched a basked of flowers - almost as if she'd anticipated Elestirnë's wishes. But, with fingers that were still nimble (if a bit crooked with age), as she expertly wove the blossoms into the young queen's hair, the nanny continued to mutter about the coronet...

When she'd finished, Ivoreth pulled the young woman to a mirror, so Elestirnë could judge the effect. "Not bad at all," the old woman mused, though she'd not been swayed from her earlier opinion. As beautiful as Elestirnë looked, "I wouldn't be surprised if Prince Adrahil notices you're not wearing it," Ivoreth chided, and with a shake of one bent finger, "He doesn't miss much with those eyes of his!"

Standing before the mirror, Elestirnë knew that there was nothing she could do to hide the blush that spread across her cheeks.

"No, I don't suppose he does," she said with a self-effacing laugh.

Just then there was crisp knock at the door, and Ivoreth disappeared into the other room to answer it. The young queen looked one last time at her reflection. Satisfied, she slipped out onto her balcony to watch the morning bustle in the harbor to the south.

Raising her eyebrow at Elestirnë's blush, Ivoreth resolved to find out how the dinner last night had gone, but for now, she went to open the door. It was the Prince, himself, and the old nanny's dark eyes crinkled into a smile. "Your Highness," she bowed, thinking inwardly the dinner must have gone quite well. "My lady is on the balcony, and ready for the festivities. - Though... she wouldn't wear her coronet!" Ivoreth added, and again 'humphed' to herself as she let the Prince in...
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 22, 2009 04:55
Minas Tirith


Three weeks ago

Crack. The old man rose from his chair slowly, placing a hand on his lower back. Crack it went again. Oh for the days of youth, he mused, grasping the edge of the worn oak table to aid him in standing. Crack.

What a long, sleepless night it had been again. Harandor sighed, staring at the endless rolls of parchment thrust into relief by the guttering flame of a tallow candle. Surely the late King could have left his affairs in better order! he thought, not for the first time. First it was the ledgers, now it's the restructuring of laws! Next they will want me to lay down and die so they can undo my work! These bitter thoughts crossed his mind briefly then left. Of course it would have been left to Harandor to take the reins of power during the Queen's minority. He had been a close advisor and friend of the late King. But now it was getting to be too much! The Council was fighting amongst themselves over the most inane of issues when there were more important stakes at hand! Take the Queen for example!

Crack.

Harandor had taken over power from the young Queen Elestirnë. A slight, lovely girl she was; she had the beauty of her mother. But beauty meant nothing when political incapability led nearly to an outbreak of civil war! Thus far, Elestirnë proved to be a deficient ruler, much of it due to her age and inexperience. The kingdom needed a strong hand to run day-to-day matters. And this was where Harandor came in. Loving the Queen as he did, Harandor sought to rule fairly. As Steward, he maintained Gondor in the Queen's stead, but he was getting old. He could not walk without being hunched over a cane. His rheumy eyes could barely discern the words that floated on the parchment before his vision. His joints creaked, his back ached, his temper was getting short, he couldn't sleep at night.

Crack.

His time had come to retire from service and enjoy what few years he had left to walk upon the earth. For all his physical problems, however, Harandor's mind remained sharp and calculating. He knew his weaknesses and realized that he would need a successor to take his place as Steward of Gondor. Good news: he had two sons. Bad news: neither was fit to rule.

Beregond was the eldest of his sons. Quite popular among the masses, he disapproved of Elestirnë from the beginning. On the other hand was Aerandir. His youngest son was quiet and solitary, the moon to Beregond's sun. But this introversion concealed an undying and enduring loyalty to the heirs of Gondor. Aerandir would not give up the throne or Elestirnë without a fight.

Crack.

After walking a pace or so, Harandor returned to the desk and put his old grey head in his gnarled hands. He did not regret the Stewardship; he only regretted the choice he had to make between his two sons. While traditionally the Stewardship passed to the eldest son, but caution warned Harandor to consider other alternatives. He was not going to walk this earth forever. But who to choose?

Crack.

Another exasperated sigh escaped Harandor. For all his power, all he wanted right now was a hot bath and a sedative to alleviate his pain and discomfort.

But no, he couldn't. A missive to each of his sons as well as to all of the Gondorian councilmen had been sent, and they were due to arrive soon. Amdir, Falamir, Ilrem, Duinhir...so many...one by one they would be filtering in, and they would debate, debate, debate as to the succession. Being the old head he was, Harandor could sense that each of his sons had his supporters, and that didn't make his decision any easier.......But Midsummer's Day would reveal all...

*~*~*~*~*

Midsummer's Day

Midsummer. It should have been a happy occasion. Revelries, celebrations of the warmth of the sun and the love of being alive, running in circle, eating, drinking until intoxicated...oh to be young again! Alas, Harandor had not the rushing adrenaline through his veins to join in on such tomfoolery. There was much to contemplate...

Several pages had arrived over the past two days or so, heralding the arrival of the High Council as well as Aerandir and Beregond. Having left his home for the confines of his quarters at the Citadel, Harandor was surprised to hear that Beregond at least had called upon him. But The old councilor needed his sanctuary. He could only handle so much pressure anymore...oh for the curse of growing old! he mused.

But now Harandor was home again, sitting in his presence chamber, sitting in his old, worn seat, his long, gnarled fingers tracing the indentations and swirls of the oak. Knocks sounded on the door, and the Steward raised his raspy but still strong voice in reply, "Come in!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The servant showed Ilrem of Anorien his quarters. Spacious, but not overly so. High stone ceilings, tapestries on the walls, a stone fireplace on the east wall, a large window with an expansive view on the west (all the better to watch the sun set from, he was told). All in all, not a horrible set up. "If ye need anythin' else, milord, please ask," the man said, bowing from the waist.

Ilrem gave a cursory nod and waved him away. And he took to pacing. The lack of action had been irritating him lately. He was as anticipatory as a stallion, biting the bit, waiting to run. He had thrown his chips in with Beregond, eldest son of the Steward Harandor, in hopes of, if Beregond became Steward, he would potentially make a bid for the throne and boot the young Queen out of the way (but nothing had been said to him of any such plot). For his part, Ilrem felt not the least bit of loyalty to the wench or Beregond even. He owed nothing to anyone but himself.

He had heard tell that Duinhir of Ithilien had been encouraging Beregond, almost coaching him, about his role as Steward, as if it were a sure thing. But why have a young, inexperienced whelp for a Steward when the role would be better filled by an ambassador? Each had his own following...it would only be a matter of "persuasion" to get the support of others.

Duinhir. Anorien and Ithilien needed to talk..."Iloch!" Ilrem shouted, calling his manservant in. A tall, well-dressed man came in and bowed once. "Go to Lord Duinhir and request an audience with him on my behalf." Iloch bowed again, turned on his heel, and sped out of the chamber.

Meanwhile, it was Midsummer. Oh, there had been a meeting or two among all of the High Council, but no substantial conclusion had been reached regarding anything of importance: the succession and the return of the Queen. But with Harandor moving at a snail's pace, nothing had been said in regards to either. How much longer were they going to have to wait? Ilrem cried out in frustration and threw a pewter goblet at the wall.

A quarter-hour later, Iloch returned. "Well?" Ilrem inquired.

[Edited on 10/23/2009 by Dinenlasse]
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 24, 2009 03:56
"Come in!"

Aerandir hesitated. He had not seen his father in over 6 months, his only communication being letter via messenger, and those had been few. Aerandir had had a good relationship with Harandor, so why should he be nervous? Was it because now the Stewardship hung above his and Beregond's heads? Did he fear who was the favorite?

Nonsense. If Harandor was anything like the man he once knew, the Steward would not pick favorites, not on something like this. Nay, he would pick whom he deemed fit for the title. And if it be Aerandir, so be it.

He pushed open the door, and stepped into uncertainty.

There his father, Steward of Gondor, sat in his old wood oak chair, facing slightly away. He looked ever the same as Aerandir remembered him, he seemed not to have changed, save maybe a few more lines etched upon his face.

You cannot be uncertain forever. Act like you are confident! With sudden resolve, he moved forward certainly to stand before his father, and bowed to one knee. "My Lord, you have summoned me?"

Now was the time to wait for how his father reacted. As steward, or father?
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 25, 2009 02:11
Duinhir took his glass and walked to the window, his back to Beregond. There was a smirk on his face as he thought about how to approach what he wanted to say to the young soldier. Fortunately, he thought, his efforts over the past few years to ingratiate himself with Beregond had succeeded, even better than he could have imagined. Now was the moment to use what he had achieved to set his own path towards glory. Turning, his back to the sunlight pouring through the window and his face in shadow as a result, he answered Beregond's questions.

"I have been here for several weeks, my lad. It seems the council meetings have been accomplishing very little." He sipped his wine, then stepping away from the window with a rueful expression he added, "You know how much affection I have for your father but ..." Looking even sadder, he continued, "I don't know how to put this, Beregond, but your father is aging. He seems to be...forgetful...not all together focused on the problem at hand. I have heard rumors that the young...Queen," here his mouth curled in disgust, "is expected to return to Minas Tirith to reclaim the throne. Now you tell me, what right has she to do this? She abandoned her place five years ago when she ran off to Dol Amroth. Hardly the type of leadership Gondor requires. Her only proper decree was appointing your father Steward."

He moved to sit next to Beregond, leaning closer to his young protege. "Your father needs to step down. He knows this. He should appoint you to replace him. You are the most reasonable and logical choice, yet still he waffles over this obvious decision. Let me help you, lad. Say the word and I will put all my influence behind you."

Duinhir's man servant entered the room, quietly approaching his employer and whispering in his ear. "M'Lord, Ilrem of Anorien has sent a request for an audience with you, as quickly as possible."

The Lord of Ithilien smiled with satisfaction. Looking up at his man, he beckoned him closer, speaking softly. "Return this message. Tell him I will be free in half an hour if he would like to join me here." His man servant nodded, standing up straight and leaving the room to give the message to Iloch, Lord Ilrem's servant.

Duinhir glanced at Beregond, who had finished another glass of wine and was looking very 'relaxed'. He had apparently not heard the interchange between Duinhir and his servant but Duinhir knew he had to be sure Beregond was gone when Ilrem arrived. "Beregond, you are like a nephew to me. You know I would do anything for you. Go..go now and visit your father. See if you can determine which way he is leaning and get back to me." He rose to his feet, inviting Beregond to do the same. "Let me walk you out," he said, his hand wrapped around the crook of Beregond's arm, leading him to the front entrance to his manor house.

As soon as Beregond was gone, he strode down the hallway to a room in the back of the house. Entering the room, he spoke to the man seated at a table, cleaning and sharpening a long dagger. "Mardok, Lord Ilrem will be here soon. I need you to approach his aide and determine exactly why the Anorien council member wishes to see me. I want the true reason, not the one Ilrem is likely to tell me. That man has his own agenda and I want to know what it is."

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

The door was opened for Adrahil by Ivoreth, Elestirnë's long time 'nanny', thought by this time in the young maiden's life she had become more of a confidante than a caretaker. It often amused Adrahil to think that were anyone smart enough to get inside Ivoreth's head and heart, they would know everything there was to know about Elestirnë. But when the older woman smiled at the Prince, all he felt for her was affection. Her devotion to his bride-to-be endeared her to him.

And when her brow wrinkled in annoyance when she shared with him that the Queen would not wear her coronet, he had to chuckle. Patting her arm, he asked her, "Did you really think she would, Ivoreth? You know her better than that. But I'll see what I can do." His hand touched her shoulder as he passed her to walk to the balcony where his lady awaited him. He stood in the doorway watching the sun light up her hair before he stepped out onto the balcony. Joining her at her side, he bent and kissed her forehead. "Good morning, my dear. How are you this morning? No regrets for your decision??" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

With his hand, he reached up and picked a flower from her hair. Holding it before her, he smiled. "Is it not time to consider wearing the symbol of your position, love? Especially today, when we will announce not only our engagement but also your return to Minas Tirith?"

It was to be an important day for both of them. He knew his own people would be delighted that their Prince was going to wed the young Queen of Gondor. She was a favorite to all his citizens and it went without saying that the Prince had taken over after the death of his own father with charm, grace and regal behavior. But he wanted to assure himself of her safety and had already begun to set the plans for their travel, including bringing his own personal royal guard with them as the traversed the distance between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith. He had yet to speak to Lessa about her father's death but they could always do that during the journey.

But today was a day of celebration and he wanted his bride-to-be to enjoy every minute of it. "Come, dear heart. Shall we join the court for breakfast on the lower terrace? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
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: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 28, 2009 05:13
Minas Tirith

“A shame the Shire was made off-limits so long ago… weren’t they rumored to grow the best?”


“Ah, yes, the fabled Long-Bottom Leaf!” said Amdir with a wistful smile, waving Falamir to a seat beside him. “But here, try this. It’s from Lebinin, and fair enough.”

Amdir fetched another pipe, packed it, lit it and handed it to his friend. When both men were settled, Amdir looked his fellow councilman over with a shrewd gaze.

“That’s homesickness in your eyes if ever I’ve seen it.” Not wanting to put Falamir on the spot, he continued. “And I feel the same. Oh, yes, even a common rambler like myself. This city is dull, and those that govern here are more stony than any fortress. It will be good to have Lady Elestirnë here among these old bones. She’d bring some wit and candor, that’s certain. If she comes back at all, that is…I certainly wouldn’t, but she’s more noble than I. But, come, I’m rambling. What’s in that head of yours?”
____

Dol Amroth

"Good morning, my dear. How are you this morning? No regrets for your decision??" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.


“None,” she said cheerfully. “My decision seems even more sound by daylight.”

A thrill ran through Elestirnë’s veins like lightening at his gentle kiss. He had done as much before in her childhood, many times, in fact. But now, Adrahil’s every gesture seemed to be of a different character. Her mind raced backward to try and discern when this act had crossed the line from heartfelt affection of an older sibling to something…else.

Elestirnë had indeed teased him in recent years, making careful note of every maiden that seemed smitten with him. And there was no shortage of those! She had hinted, prodded, and practically dumped him in the lap of several such maidens, who were plenty deserving of his affection, but Adrahil had never entertained the slightest interest. She had done all this in hopes of sparing herself, for she had begun to feel for him in a most unexpected way. She wanted him to fall in love with someone else so she could shame herself into putting away those feelings once and for all. Her plan had failed, but not for any reason she could have imagined.


With his hand, he reached up and picked a flower from her hair. Holding it before her, he smiled. "Is it not time to consider wearing the symbol of your position, love? Especially today, when we will announce not only our engagement but also your return to Minas Tirith?"


“I will never wear that thing again.”

Before Adrahil could look alarmed, Elestirnë explained herself. Taking his hand, she looked at him earnestly. “Adrahil, you must know that the coronet is more than the symbol of my office. To me, it is the symbol of my darkest days. Besides, it is a child’s coronet. I wish to appear as their Queen, not as the child they so rued.”

Then she smiled brightly. “Nay, as queen of Gondor and Arnor I shall wear something more fitting. Not the Winged Crown, surely, but something that speaks of Numenor.”

At a curious look from Adrahil, she laughed. “Do not wonder overmuch. The jewel-smiths are already at work. You shall see it on our wedding day. Until then, the Star of the North shall stand in its place. I’m sure that is fitting.”

With this, Adrahil must have been satisfied for he offered no argument.


"Come, dear heart. Shall we join the court for breakfast on the lower terrace? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."


Linking arms with him, Elestirnë accompanied him to the terrace.
At breakfast, the crowd was lively already, anxious for the day’s festivities to begin. There would be rowing and archery competitions, foot races, displays of swordsmanship, and other such games, all before the great noon meal. After the townsfolk grew restless of carousing at the long banquet tables with family and friends, the music would certainly start. And if past celebrations were any indication, the dancing and revelry would last well into the night, when bonfires would be lit on the beaches.

Elestirnë knew that speeches were always expected during the noon meal, so the occasion would certainly lend itself to their big announcement, being, as they would be, surrounded by the folk of Dol Amroth.

But before that, Elestirnë and the Prince would certainly take part in the games of the day, for on Mid-Summer’s Day, the distinction between lord and subject was somewhat dissolved, as the court and people celebrated together.


((P.S. the bit about the "Star of the North" is a pun..."Elestirnë" means "star-brow" ))



[Edited on 29/10/2009 by Eärendils_Beloved]
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: October 29, 2009 04:16
"Your father needs to step down. He knows this. He should appoint you to replace him. You are the most reasonable and logical choice, yet still he waffles over this obvious decision. Let me help you, lad. Say the word and I will put all my influence behind you."


Beregond stirred from his comfortable position at the Lord Duinhir's words. His blood, always running hot, began to boil at the words. He did deserve the throne. Gondor needed a strong ruler, not some child who would hasten the great kingdom's fall.

"Any help you would offer I would be most grateful to accept, Duinhir. I will have the stewardship, I must have it. And we cannot see that foolish girl on the throne."

Beregond stopped after the words left his mouth. He wondered suddenly if the words were blasphemous--to keep the heir from her throne. Duinhir was speaking, and it drew him from his reverie.

"...like a nephew to me. You know I would do anything for you. Go..go now and visit your father. See if you can determine which way he is leaning and get back to me."


Beregond stood and allowed a smile to cross his face, dropping a large, powerful hand on the Lord's shoulder.

"And you are like an uncle to me, my lord. We shall meet again soon, I think. I will go speak some wisdom to my father and also see if I can ascertain how he will decide."

With that Beregond left the house of Duinhir. When the fresh breeze hit his face, he stood still a moment. His eyes swept over the city, out to the fields of Pelannor, sweeping far, far out to Ithilien, and the great river, and all that lay about. A deep love for this land swelled within him, untainted by the wine which was quickly wearing away under the touch of the breeze.

One thing was certain, this land was his home. He was yet strong and capable, and the people loved him much. He would not see this great city fall into lesser hands, weak in strength and will.

Turning, Beregond strode swiftly back up to the highest level of the city. He passed soldiers and they called out to him in admiration and love. He raised his hand to them, and his smile was brighter. Here among his men, he was most at ease. But now to see his father and see if he could not secure his place as Steward.

[Edited on 30/10/2009 by Adara_Cochava]
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: November 08, 2009 07:28
Ilrem paced his chambers after hearing Iloch's reply from Duinhir. A half hour. That was all he had to prepare. What did he want to find out? What information did he want to obtain without seeming too forward and covert? It was well-known among Beregond's supporters that the eldest son wanted the Stewardship. But each supporter had his own agenda...Ilrem had some ideas of to the others', but he needed more definitive evidence before he could proceed.

He would play cautious and stupid, acting as if he knew nothing, which in fact, he didn't. He had a feeling Duinhir would be assessing his motives, but any friend of an enemy would; that was how politics worked.

So, why did Ilrem want to meet with Duinhir? To find out what Beregond intended to do. That is, what Duinhir wanted Beregond to do; the lad was too malleable to think on his own, for his own interests. His interests would reflect what Duinhir had in mind. Then, it would become easier to plan for his rise to power. Slowly it would come, but Ilrem had all the time in the world. Slow and steady wins the race, they say...

A half hour passed. Time to confront his enemy with a show of gladness. Ilrem donned the cloak with his emblem on it, a sprig of oak, symbolizing strength and endurance, both of which his family had in abundance.

The Anorien lord traced the familiar stone passages to the door outside Duinhir's chamber. Summoning up his courage (for no matter what, there was always a fear of failure), Ilrem knocked, one, two, three times.

(I am sorry this is short, but I figure that the next post with him will be a joint one.)

[Edited on 11/9/2009 by Dinenlasse]
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: November 09, 2009 07:35
(Joint post between Adara, Eru, and me.)

You cannot be uncertain forever. Act like you are confident! With sudden resolve, he moved forward certainly to stand before his father, and bowed to one knee. "My Lord, you have summoned me?"



Harandor smiled benevolently at Aerandir. He loved his youngest son. Here would be a good Steward in the future, and he would guide and protect young Elestirnë with his life...but, should a younger son replace where the eldest son should? Such a precedent had not happened for years. Could he subject Gondor to that? What with a young queen?...

Adrahil. Yes, the old man remembered the betrothal with Belfalas. But could he count on it taking place? Yes? No? Don't think on it too much! he chided himself sternly. There are other things to worry about.

He kept his eyes on Aerandir and said happily, "It is good to see you within the City again, my son. How have the seasons been treating you? Come forward."

Aerandir bowed respectfully, then came forward as asked. "They have treated me well, father. You will be glad to know that my company has had very little resistance over the past months, only a few minor disturbances. Gondor is at relative peace." Yet even as he said it, somehow it felt like a lie. Gondor is at peace with her enemies, but not with herself. And he knew it to be true.

"And it is good to see you too, father. I am glad to see you faring well."

Harandor allowed a wry smile. "Aye, as well as can be expected." His lower back spasmed, sending shooting pains up his back. He grimaced slightly. The old Steward put a hand on his son's shoulder (though Aerandir was a head taller than his stooped parent) and blessed Aerandir.

Another knock sounded on the door. Harandor looked over Aerandir's shoulder and called out, "Come in!"

Beregond pushed the heavy wooden door open easily and stepped into the rather dim room. His quick, dark eyes took only a fraction of a second to take in his brother standing beside his ailing father. Harandor's hand rested on Aerandir's shoulder, both men looked back at Beregond.

"Ah, so you've managed to come before me, aye, younger brother? Ready to supplant me, I see," Beregond laughed as if in jest, and yet a dark glimmer in his eye hinted at how serious he truly was.

Aerandir was slightly confused at his brother's remark... and hurt. Why would Beregond say things like that? He had definitely changed. Aerandir's face fell when he realized this man before him was not the brother he knew many months ago.

Beregond crossed the room in three powerful strides.

"Please, sit, Father, you are pale and flushed all at once," he reprimanded, settling the man in a chair without waiting for a response. He noticed how stiff the man's movements were, saw the pain flitting across the aged features of Harandor's face.

After settling the old man, Beregond turned and paced to the white marble fireplace. He stretched his hands out to its warmth and watched Aerandir from the corner of his eye. His mind was dark with suspicions, and many warnings of Duinhir rolled through his mind. Blinking, he turned and faced his brother, ready to make another stab at him.

But suddenly he stopped. He saw his brother's face transfigured before him, until it seemed to Beregond that they were but two children again. Catching his breath slightly, the older brother turned his face away. A thousand childhood memories--fond remembrances--streamed through his mind in a mad torrent, drowning his suspicion and tinging his heart with guilt.

With his face turned away, he struggled to regain his composure.

Harandor sat in his old wooden chair, the seat sunk in from years of use. His bright eyes watched Beregond's facial transformations and surmised some conflicting thoughts were raging behind his demeanor. Inwardly disturbed but outwardly calm, he addressed his eldest son. "Beregond, welcome back home. To have both my sons in the same room for the first time in months, it gladdens my heart.

"By now you can guess as to why I have summoned you both before me, on this day of all days..." Harandor began. He paused, gauging their reactions. Both were tense and alert, each wanting to hear what he wanted to hear. Beregond and Aerandir both thought that they would become his successor. But the joke was on them...this old fool was not done yet.

[Edited on 11/11/2009 by Dinenlasse]
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: November 12, 2009 05:37
“I will never wear that thing again.”

Tsking to herself, Ivoreth made herself busy as Adrahil listened to Elestirnë’s explanation. Shaking her head, ah, well, the child would do as she willed… though the old woman’s charge had now become a young woman.

Waiting until the Prince had escorted the young Queen of Gondor from the room, Ivoreth went to enjoy the festivities for herself. She’d eaten long before being called to tend Elestirnë, so she headed to watch the races, every now and then getting a glimpse of the young couple and smiling to herself when she did. She looked forward to having a good chat with her young charge - Ivoreth always enjoyed revisiting each and every thing she saw, said or heard, as well as what others experienced as well. Perhaps, in the morning…

**************************************

The day had been a boring one for Mardok of South Ithilien. He’d roamed the streets for much of it, watching the preparations for the Midsummer’s Day celebrations… mostly with a derisive curl on his lips. Let them celebrate!, he thought, and wished whatever ‘plans’ were to be made, had been already in place. - For… tonight would be the perfect ‘time’ for a strike.

Half the men (or more) would be well wined-up, and no one would be on the alert for anything untoward…

Ah, well, and shrugging to himself, Mardok moved on.

He was not a patient man… he liked for things to *happen*! - And, if he could instigate (or assist) in any troublemaking, so much the better.

Walking up the sloping streets to the house he shared with his cousin, the only ‘pleasure’ Mardok had was to smile and wink knowingly at the prettiest girls he spotted. Time enough later on for flirting, though, and he intended to do so.

For the moment, as the scruffy-looking yet powerfully-built man glanced at the sky, he knew it would not be long before the Council meeting ended, and so decided to make his way back to the house the two of them shared. To keep himself busy, Mardok took out one of his knives and began to sharpen the gleaming blade. He was still at it when Duinhir came in.
"Mardok, Lord Ilrem will be here soon. I need you to approach his aide and determine exactly why the Anorien council member wishes to see me. I want the true reason, not the one Ilrem is likely to tell me. That man has his own agenda and I want to know what it is."

Snorting derisively, Mardok nodded. “If there’s anything to be found out, I’ll find it,” he added, and then added a final polish before returning his weapon to it’s sheath. But, “No news from the Council meeting?” he inquired, standing easily, and yet eyeing his cousin closely.

Heading out, Mardok went in search of Iloch…

**************************

Coming in to Amdir’s rooms, Falamir had commented on the state of Hobbit-grown tobacco no longer being available.
“Ah, yes, the fabled Long-Bottom Leaf!” said Amdir with a wistful smile, waving Falamir to a seat beside him. “But here, try this. It’s from Lebinin, and fair enough.”

“Thank you, I will,” Falamir replied; he’d not thought to bring his own pipe, and appreciated the loan of Amdir’s.

Settling down in a chair across from the other Councilor, he drew on the pipe to get it going properly, and then blew out his own blue cloud of smoke. - Ah, but he could only think of his chair back home… sitting before the fireplace after the children had been put to bed, and his wife nearby doing her needlework. He missed her, and his daughter and son, but… of course, duty called…
“That’s homesickness in your eyes if ever I’ve seen it.” Not wanting to put Falamir on the spot, he continued. “And I feel the same. Oh, yes, even a common rambler like myself. This city is dull, and those that govern here are more stony than any fortress. It will be good to have Lady Elestirnë here among these old bones. She’d bring some wit and candor, that’s certain. If she comes back at all, that is…I certainly wouldn’t, but she’s more noble than I. But, come, I’m rambling. What’s in that head of yours?”

Grimacing, Falamir puffed again. “I am concerned, Amdir,” he admitted. “I dislike so many in the Council being against Elestirnë’s return. I cannot see why they will not admit that one can learn from past mistakes. Perhaps I am missing something in their protests, but I will continue to back our Queen. Is there anything you may have noticed that I have not?”

Sitting back, Falamir watched Amdir, and waited for his response…

"Tolo si, a tiro i cherth Eru" "Come now, and see the works of God"
BerethEdhellen
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Post RE: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: November 13, 2009 03:19
"No news from the Council meeting?" Mardok asked Duinhir.

"Being that it is Midsummer's Day, the meeting was shortened. It should resume tomorrow, though what will be accomplished even then is doubtful. I simply cannot understand those who feel so loyal to a child with no experience in ruling even a pet dog. But perhaps Ilrem will offer support to reason. Now, go. Find Iloch, while I await his master."

Duinhir returned to his study and poured himself another glass of wine, reveling in its fine flavor. Pressed from the grapes of his estate in Ithilien, it had been a good year for winemaking. He wondered how long it would take Ilrem to make his way from his quarters in the Citadel to the fifth level and Duinhir's manor house. He was pleased with himself for having thought ahead to purchasing his own home to house him on his visits to Minas Tirith. He could not abide sleeping in what he considered the cramped quarters of the Citadel.

His man entered the study, announcing Ilrem, who stood just behind him. The servant stepped aside, bowing and waving Ilrem into the study. Duinhir turned and lifting his glass of wine, he welcomed the Anorien council member.

"Welcome, Ilrem. A glass of wine perhaps. Do sit and make yourself comfortable and I'll pour one for you. It's truly fine this year." Pouring a goblet of the brilliant red wine, he offered it to Ilrem, then seating himself across from the Anorien. "Now tell me, my friend, what news do you bring? Are we still dealing with those stubborn loyalists?"

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

When Adrahil had asked Elestirnë about her coronet, her answer had been swift and sharp. "I will never wear that thing again." But when she explained her reasoning and the preparation of a more suitable crown, he smiled in approval. His young Queen was wise indeed. With her arm linked with his, he led her down to the terrace where already a crowd had gathered.

The morning was filled with games and competitions. Adrahil won an archery event and came in second to one of his soldiers in a horse race. By the time lunch time came around, he was dirty, sweaty and starving. Whispering in Elestirnë's ear, he said, "I shall return in a few moments but I really must go and clean up before I eat." Giving her a light kiss on her forehead, he excused himself from those around him and hurried to his chambers. His servant was prepared for his appearance, having a bowl of warm water with a cloth and towel already set on the washboard in the corner and a clean tunic and leggings laid out on the bed. Adrahil quickly bathed and dressed in the dark blue tunic that bore the emblem of the Dol Amroth Princes, the silver swan, and with a brush through his dark locks and a tie back that pulled it behind his neck, he returned at a fast pace to the terrace. Luncheon was laid out on the huge banquet tables and he sat at the head of one of them with Lessa at his side.

As the meal reached its conclusion, Adrahil rose to his feet. Tapping a silver fork against his crystal goblet, he called for the attention of all those present, which included dozens of people on the terrace as well as hundreds below in the courtyard. "My Lords and Ladies, people of Dol Amroth. I have an announcement of great import to make to you all. I hope you will find it as happy an announcement as I do." Gazing affectionately at Elestirnë for a long moment, he looked out again over the throngs before him. "The Lady Elestirnë has agreed to become my wife." There was a moment of silence and several gasps of surprise could be heard before the crowd began to cheer. Those of Dol Amroth held great affection for the Gondorian lady, who had spent so many years in their midst. It took some time before the clapping and cheering quieted down enough for Adrahil to continue.

"There is more. The Lady Elestirnë has not only come of age but she will take her rightful position as the Queen of Gondor. I will also tell you that we will be wed in Gondor on the day she takes the throne. So as not to deny you a part in this event, on the day we marry, the citizens of Dol Amroth will have a simultaneous day of festivity and merriment. I do hope this pleases you as much as it does me. I cannot remember when I have been so happy." As the cheering became almost deafening, he reached down for Elestirnë's hand and pulled her to her feet beside him. Raising his hand and repeatedly thanking everyone until it was quiet enough to speak again, he added, "I think the Lady would like to say a few words."

The day continued with the citizens feeling an added sense of celebration than it being simply Midsummer's Day. Their Prince was marrying their beloved Lady Elestirnë and, though they would be wed many leagues away, they were still delighted. The addition of another day of partying was like icing on a very rich cake. However, as the day waned, Adrahil led Elestirnë to a private garden overlooking the sea. Sitting with her on a salt-worn wooden bench, he took her hand in his, gazing into her beautiful eyes before bending closer, his lips meeting hers gently. "There are some things I need to share with you, my love." He brushed her rosy cheeks with the back of his fingers, delighting in the softness of her skin.

"First, some business. When you agreed to be my bride last evening, I sent out a messenger to Minas Tirith and Harandor, advising him of our engagement and our plan to return to the White City within the next day or two. However, even riding straight through, changing horses often and resting little, it will take at least another three and a half days for him to reach the White City. As we both know, word has filtered through to us about a meeting of the council members and the naming of a new Steward, most likely one of Harandor's sons. But there are also discussions about your rule so it seemed useful to announce our plans to Harandor to bring to the council meetings. I can only hope it is not too late. I also hope you approve of my measure."

He listened closely to his young bride-to-be, knowing that she was intelligent and would not long accept his making decisions for her as he had in her childhood. He would have to be careful not to tread on her toes..or her rights. When she had given him her thoughts on his action, he continued.

"We will be leaving for Minas Tirith with the next few days at most. I plan to bring my personal guard troops with our entourage." When she glanced at him questioningly, he took a deep breath before he spoke. "Lessa, my dearest one, I must tell you something that troubles me deeply and I know will trouble you as well." Inhaling and exhaling with a whoosh, he began, "I was horribly shocked at the death of your father, and of course your mother's answer to it. But I felt there was something .. not right about his supposed 'accident'. For years, I have been searching for the truth and some of the things I have discovered leads to...well, leads to it not being an accident at all. I fear your father may have been assassinated." He looked at her face, expecting to see a look of shock but it was he who was surprised. There was a 'knowing' expression on her lovely face. Puzzled he finished with, "Thus, I wish to bring my own guard as I don't know who we can trust in Minas Tirith. And why are you looking at me that way. Do you know something?"

[Edited on 14/11/2009 by BerethEdhellen]
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: *A Child Shall Lead Them: Civil War in the Fourth Age* (see OOC)
on: December 02, 2009 06:30
His man entered the study, announcing Ilrem, who stood just behind him. The servant stepped aside, bowing and waving Ilrem into the study. Duinhir turned and lifting his glass of wine, he welcomed the Anorien council member.

"Welcome, Ilrem. A glass of wine perhaps. Do sit and make yourself comfortable and I'll pour one for you. It's truly fine this year." Pouring a goblet of the brilliant red wine, he offered it to Ilrem, then seating himself across from the Anorien. "Now tell me, my friend, what news do you bring? Are we still dealing with those stubborn loyalists?"


Ilrem gazed intently at the wine glass, contemplating his words. He swilled the wine around before bringing the cup to his lips. Indeed the wine was fine, strongly fermented but going down smoothly. "I'd agree that the wine is fine this year, Duinhir, but surely not as good as the ale, eh?" he chuckled softly. He lifted his eyes to Duinhir's. "I've heard tell from a reliable source that our young Queen is to be making for the Citadel to reclaim her throne within a year now that she has come of age. This should be good news for the loyalists. But when she shall come is up for debate." Ilrem paused, wondering if he should inquire some of his own. His reply was a safe enough one; rumours had been flying throughout the city that Elestirnë had married her guardian in Dol Amroth. He was only stating the obvious.

"I do believe that if such a thing were true, our loyalist comrades would make a move to oust us from power and have Aerandir at their head. Obviously such a thing is not one we can stomach heartily. How has our young buck Beregond been leaning? Is he convinced Harandor will choose him as successor?"

Ilrem leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the flickering shadows coming from the fireplace. Plans were slowly formulating in his mind...but he could not trust Duinhir to not try and figure them out...

(I apologize for how short this is, but it should move some things along between Duinhir and Ilrem. A jp may work better for the continuation of this exchange! )
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