| Dinenlasse |
 A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: March 14, 2011 07:16
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(If you're interested in joining this RP, check out the OOC here and PM me. Thanks!)
The comatose man’s final breath rattled from his chest like a sigh, shallow and ragged. Peace settled over his grizzled features, and he lay still. Silence reigned in the sad room, a breeze billowing the curtains, in and out, ironically mocking the dead man. Thus ended the life and reign of Hingaer, King of Gondor. An older woman, proud with years of experience, pulled the bed covering over his prone figure. Sighing heavily with melancholy, she turned to the servant awaiting her word. “Fetch my sons and daughter,” she commanded quietly, her steady voice masking her sorrow. “Please,” she added, a tear betraying her true emotions.
The servant, Ardyn, bowed, knowing the weight of her words. “Aye, my lady.”
“And,” Gwyneira continued. Ardyn halted and turned around. “Tell no one what has occurred.”
“Yes, my lady. You have my word.” Bowing once more, he withdrew from the room.
Within a relatively quick period of time, Gwyneira’s children had gathered in front of her. There was her eldest, Renault. Dark of hair, skin, and temper, Renault was to take over his father’s throne. But Gwyneira inwardly cringed at the thought. He had always been the recluse, an arrogant and brash child who enjoyed hearing stories of Middle Earth’s foes, especially the dark lord Sauron from the War of the Ring. Such a long time ago, that was, Gwyneira thought, lost in the dusty annals of time. In Renault’s piercing hazel eyes shone a determined and proud fire. He was to be king, a happening long in the making. The old king Hingaer, descendant of the great king Elessar himself, had kept peace in the realm for over thirty years, ruling fairly and honestly and earning the epithet of the Just. Gwyneira had a grave foreboding that times were about to change.
Then her eyes settled on her middle son, Aeron. At 25, he had grown into his prime and could have been considered a good catch for a young noblewoman. His pleasant demeanor endeared him to many, especially his mother. An astute politician and able warrior, Aeron would have easily made a better king than Renault, but tradition could not be disrupted and so Renault would reign.
Gerant, her youngest son, was the mirror image of his father when he had been younger. He had a stubborn as well as a jocular streak when the mood suited him. He and Aeron had been inseparable as they grew up, often playing together and protecting their sister Eira from hidden monsters that pervaded their living quarters as children. At the thought, Gwyneira had to stifle a smile. Such memories. But they would never be again.
And then there was Eira, her daughter. She was the youngest of her four children with a lovely complexion and a graceful figure that would have found her any gentleman she so chose. Eira often had it rough growing up with three brothers, but she grew resilient and could handle herself well in any situation.
Coming back to the present, Gwyneira addressed her children, “For the sake of posterity, I must tell you our beloved king and your father has flown to the Halls of Mandos.” At this her voice broke and tears slid down her weathered cheeks. Her body began to shake. She had lost her love, her partner, her best friend to the ravages of time. Straightening her back and regaining her composure, Gwyneira continued valiantly, “Renault, the time will come soon enough for you to take your father’s place as king of Gondor, and as such, the proper arrangements will be made after our period of mourning.” She saw a flicker of triumph in his eyes that betrayed his outwardly remorseful countenance. But now was not the time to deal with such matters. The family sought solace with each other and would handle the ascension of Renault to his throne in due time.
*~*~*~*~*
Mist rose above the rolling moors, creating a gilded effect on the dew-laden tops. The early morning sun crept over the horizon, as though reluctant to let the night relinquish its hold on the land. A gentle gust played across the hilltops, in its tendrils the scent of spring. Night sounds still pervaded the air: the melodic chirruping of crickets, the mournful crying of the nightingale, the throaty warbling of peepers. Stars glistened like gems against the slowly brightening sky, turning from ebony black to a dusky grey. Everywhere, the valley’s diurnal inhabitants were still slumbering, hopeful of a promise of a fair day.
One rider noted the coming of morning with relief. He nudged his massive stallion up the slope of a particularly large hill, coming to a halt at its crest. His and his steed’s breaths furled and intermingled in front of them sporadically. The man was about forty, with the sturdy build of a northerner. His countenance was weathered but handsome, with black hair and blue eyes. Across his back lay a sheathed sword, and attached to the saddle cantle was a strung bow and a quiver of arrows. He had positioned himself squarely over his horse’s broad back, straight as a rod. When in progress, the horse, also from the north, moved with a rocking gait. His barrel chest was deep and wide, allowing for ample consumption of oxygen-lacking mountain air. His coat was a smoky grey, his legs relatively short and muscular. Endurance defined their features, and to find a hardier pair would have been difficult.
The man surveyed the surrounding moors of the country with a swift gaze then turned his eyes southward, trying to discern the shadows that made up the sprawling expanse of trees that made up part of Ithilien. But he could see nothing. It was yet too early. Praising under his breath the breaking of dawn, for he disliked the quiet unknown of dark, he tugged Gale’s reins to the left and proceeded down the hill in a careful fashion, avoiding the stones and brush scattered about.
*~*~*~*~*
In the forest, one noted the coming and going of the man with but mild interest. Men, especially riders, frequented the moors and forests throughout the warmer months. Who could he have been but a merchant or scout of sorts? the young woman reasoned, turning her attention to the task at hand. Her appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. Brown-haired and green-eyed, she donned typical woodland clothes: a green tunic, brown breeches, leather boots, and sword belt, into which was thrust a dagger. In her hands was a bow and on her back, a quiver of arrows.
The deer browsed the ground, his velvety lips foraging for last year’s acorns. He appeared to be only about five years old, with a considerable spread of three tines on each antler. The young woman hid behind a tree and waited for the right time. She edged out from behind the tree and moved behind another one. She repeated this action until she was within ten yards of her quarry. Then, the deer looked up, his ears and eyes alert. Holding her breath, the girl held her back against the tree, remaining silent. After a breathless moment, the deer lowered his head again.
Carefully, she stepped out from behind the tree just enough to get a good shot, now that he was broadside to her. Notching an arrow to her bow, she drew back until the string was taut. Holding her breath, she released the string. The arrow flew through the air and landed with a thud in the deer’s midsection. Biting her lip to stifle the cry she made at the off shot, the girl watched the deer leap up in surprise and pain and bound away to the east. Sighing, she let out a low whistle. A black horse ambled out of the depths of the wood, dragging behind him a plank of wood. He was a stocky horse, his girth perhaps a bit too much for one of his breed, but his steps were sure and sound. Snorting, he tossed his head and paused to nip at an overhanging leave.
“Peredur,” the girl commanded tersely. Undeterred, Peredur shuffled slowly towards his mistress and paused again to graze. Annoyed, she walked over to her horse and took hold of the trailing reins. Drawing his head up, the girl scolded the nonchalant horse. “I will brook no nonsense from you today, my friend,” she chided, looking into his eyes. “We have to get back before midmorn, and I do not want to delay.” He breathed hard into her face, and the young woman smiled, amused. “Per, come.”
Letting go of Peredur’s reins, she set off into the forest, following the distinguishable blood trail the deer had made. About five hundred yards onto the trail, the girl found the deer, still struggling, but on the ground now. Pity rent her heart, and she took the dagger from her belt. While she hated to end the life of the deer so painfully, rather do it herself than let him suffer. She knelt by the animal, inhaled deeply, and plunged the dagger into the jugular vein in his neck. Blood spurted out of the wound, and she jumped back to avoid being washed in it. Within a short time, the deer’s lifeblood had spilled onto the ground, and the beast lay still. Because he was too heavy for her to lift, the young woman rolled the deer onto the wooden plank and tied a rope around his midsection. Thus secured, she and Peredur started off into the forest, heading for home.
Leading Peredur, the girl walked assuredly down an overgrown path, following a winding river. After a good hour walk, she stepped out into a large clearing, the sun beaming overhead. Around ten or so dwellings lay scattered about the area. While rough-looking, made of wood and stone with thatched roofs, they were solidly built by honest hard work. A single dirt road ran through the clearing, north and south, and an inn sat to the right side of it. Called the Hollow Tree Inn, the building donned a worn shingle painted brown emblazoned with an oak tree.
The girl tugged Peredur forward after he planted his hooves in the road and huffed, tossing his head spiritedly. The pair walked down the road until they were hailed by a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and heartbreakingly blue eyes. He was well-formed and muscular. He straightened up from raking and called, “Well, ‘tis about time you came back, Addie! I was worried you were lost in the woods again!”
Laughing, Adrienne replied in mock indignation, “I don’t see you traversing out there to find food, Matti. At the least you could lift this beast for me!”
Matthias, Adrienne’s brother, bent down, lifted the carcass easily over one shoulder, and proceeded to a nearby dwelling. Another man stood on its threshold, nailing in a frame for a window. He turned upon hearing the approaching footsteps and greeted Matthias and Adrienne cheerfully. “Well met, Addie!” the man, their father Thyrin, praised, setting down his hammer and nails to embrace his daughter in a one-armed hug. “I see you managed to get Matti to help as well.” His gaze met that of his twenty-four-year-old son. “I admire that, my girl. He is as hard to move as a mule.”
Grinning in return, Matthias retorted, “True. But I did move after all, did I not, Father?”
Thyrin laughed in agreement. But then a sudden thudding of hooves on the dirt road forestalled further conversation. A large slate-grey horse came galloping their way, and his rider sighted Thyrin’s dwelling. Giving a cry of relief, he hauled back on the reins, and the stallion stuttered to a halt.
”Thank the fortunes you are here, Thyrin!” the man said, jumping off his horse and embracing the elder man graciously.
Thyrin held the man at arm’s length and stared bewildered at the younger man by a year, his brother. “Ardyn, brother, what has happened?”
Ardyn stared into Thyrin’s blue eyes, widening them slightly in significance, and nodded infinitesimally. Thyrin bit his lip anxiously and whispered, “He has died, then?”
“Aye, five days ago. Gwyneira had me summon the princes and princess just before I left to formally declare his death. The entire country will be thrown into mourning…and quite possibly turmoil.”
“May his soul reach peace,” Thyrin bowed his head, giving the dead king a moment of respect. “But now,” he added, coming back to the present, “we must plan. I have a feeling things are going to turn out as we feared.” Ardyn was inclined to agree. Their suspicions about Renault's ascension to the throne began almost as soon as they had received word that Hingaer was ill over three years ago. Ardyn had been relaying information back to his brother in Ithilien as to the circulating rumors that Renault would begin his reign with an iron fist, causing much discomfort among his followers.
Adrienne and Matthias watched the quiet exchange with interest. Wishing she had the ability to read lips, Adrienne muttered sideways to her brother, “What do you reckon is going on?”
“Something grave to be sure,” Matthias replied, eyes on his father, whose shoulders slouched, a clear indication of a weighty matter. “But we shall find out soon enough, Addie.” He turned, Adrienne with him.
Brother and sister followed a narrow path to a small smokehouse, to which a preparation room had been attached. After gutting and skinning the deer, Matthias prepared the meat for storage, but knowing it wouldn’t last long in the damp spring air, he added a pinch of salt to help prevent spoiling. As they worked, Matthias said, “I honestly don’t know what is going on, Addie.” Silence followed as he put the last of the deer meat in the adjacent cellar underground, brow furrowed in concentration. “But Father will tell us in due time. You know he always does.”
[Edited on 3/15/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 3/21/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 5/18/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 12/15/2011 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
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| Fennuir |
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| NÃnimelle |
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| Erucenindë |
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| Fennuir |
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| NÃnimelle |
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| Nifredil |
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| ~Laesneniel~ |
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| Dinenlasse |
RE: A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: March 20, 2011 05:23
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Gwyneira watched her children leave the sad scene, Renault first, pride bordering on arrogance, his gate almost a strut. Her other two sons and daughter followed behind, muttering amongst themselves. The Queen did not have to guess at what they discussed; simply put, it wouldn't surprise her if they were discussing the possibility of overturning Renault as heir. Gwyneira had taken Aeron's hand and pressed into it the ring of Barahir, the choicest heirloom passed among the sons of the Gondorian kings for generations since the reign of Aragorn Elessar. Despite her own abhorrence for lying, Gwyneira would put out the story that her beloved Hingaer had misplaced it. But, as she explained in a subsequent message to Aeron, he could not wear it publicly or even privately, and he would do well to put it in hiding. Both Hingaer and Gwyneira had decided to aid their second son for both knew, given an exceptional ability of perception and judgment, that Renault would bring upon himself misery and corruption to the government of Gondor.
She sent the servants away after they bore away the late King's body for viewing and burial preparations and took a rare and quiet moment alone. Gwyneira moved to the open window that afforded the most spectacular view of Minas Tirith, overlooking the great city in its seven levels to the sprawling fields that lay before. Tears flowed freely down her face, intermingling with the breeze that blew into and out of the chamber room.
Her thoughts turned to Ardyn. Easily her most loyal and trusted servant, Gwyneira relied on Ardyn more than she let on. Ardyn had come to the attention of one of Hingaer's councilors, and taking the young man under his wing, he eventually raised him to the ranks of the king's personal servants. Gwyneira had been eyeing his talents for a long time and decided to offer Ardyn a position as her personal secretary. He was a very fair-minded man who saw the sides of both things, a trait very much needed in the game of politics. She had sent him away to bear the news, but she hoped he went to visit his family as well. As of late, Gwyneira had been keeping him later and later each night, dispatching messages to the northern and southern nobles, her family, and others about the king and recent happenings at court. The man deserved a rest. After things settled down, she'd send him away for some a spell.
Gwyneira's thought now turned to the burial. Soon Hingaer would join his predecessors in the Hallows, and his widow would have to become accustomed to life without her partner. They had been married for over 30 years through an arranged marriage but had been fortunate to have blossomed into true love and friendship. Through thick and thin they had managed, even when Gwyneira's life had almost been taken by puerperal fever following the birth of Eira. They had brought peace to the realm after Hingaer's father, Hethrom, had nearly brought the country to its knees through corruption. Indeed, Gwyneira saw much of Hethrom in Renault, but she had hoped her family's good graces would have passed to her eldest. Sighing amidst these thoughts, she rested her forehead on the open windowpane, allowing the wind and rain to sooth her for the time being.
A knock sounded on her door and brought her from her reverie. "Come in!" Gwyneira called out, straightening herself and adjusting her coronet to meet her visitor.
*~*~*~*~*
Adrienne watched her uncle ride away sadly. Her father relayed the news of the king's death, and the two siblings gave the king a minute of silence. They had liked the man, having met them a few times when they went to court with their father. But living away from Minas Tirith distanced them from a concrete relationship with their late monarch. Thyrin held the title, among others, as the Steward of Ithilien. He was not the Prince of Ithilien, inherently meaning that he was Steward of Gondor; his responsibility was the maintenance and security of the forest, its inhabitants, and enforcement of the king's law.
Thyrin had taken a different path than that of his younger brother. As a child, Thyrin had loved the outdoors, battles, weapons while Ardyn had been a man of letters. That did not mean Thyrin disliked intellectual pursuits. He simply placed his love of the outdoors over books, writing, and scholarly duties. Ardyn always had a knack for politics and compromise which had earned him a solid place in the royal court. On other hand, Thyrin had found a place at court among the king's military. Along with the Steward of Ithilien, he had also served as Hingaer's Master of the Horse and a couple of minor military positions. But Ithilien became his priority and so the man kept to the forest. In the days of old, the Rangers had made their home in Ithilien, but under a descendant of Lord Faramir, they had moved North, leaving a need for a post for a caretaker of the forest. It was post that fit perfectly for Thyrin. He had raised his children there, and it was there they prospered.
In any case, the differing paths of the two brothers did not diminish their relationship. Instead, they and their families were close. Adrienne and Matthias had been educated in Minas Tirith under their uncle and saw the way court life worked. But neither had shown the inclination to move to court though their lineage, that of the royal line of Dol Amroth through their late mother Rhea (who had been the niece of the current Prince) and through their father's (who was descended from northern kings of old) would have allowed them to have a high place at court. Adrienne especially was close to her uncle, often traveling to Minas Tirith to visit him and her aunt Midlar.
"Addie!" Thyrin cried to her as she saw Ardyn's Gale thunder back along the north-south road through the small restored Ranger refuge of Tolech-en-Ernil. Adrienne looked at her father who came up behind her and put his arm around her. "'Tis a sad thing indeed that our king is dead. I have a feeling we may not be at peace much longer."
Adrienne tilted her head up to gaze into her father's blue eyes in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Thyrin considered her, not wanting to divulge much but trusting in her ability to handle intrigue. "There's not much to worry about now, darling, but many of us have concerns about the king's heir even before he takes the throne. I knew Renault very well from my time spent in the capital, and to be blunt, seems inadequate to take up the mantle of king."
Adrienne remained confused. Of course she had heard rumors of the king's eldest, but she had never considered them to be seriously true. True, she hadn't liked him when she'd met him, but that was no indication of his lack of ability to reign. With a laugh, Thyrin pulled her into a hug, kissed her head, and said, "No need to worry about anything now, sweet. We have a coronation to prepare for!" He turned and returned to their dwelling, a rather large stone affair shored up with wood. It was a sturdy dwelling, obviously not meant for one of their station, but Thyrin never really liked niceties, which was why he refused to live in Osgiliath, where the current Prince of Ithilien lived, or Emyn Arnen, where Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn had resided.
Matthias soon hailed her as well, calling for her to join him for a quick pint at the Hollow Oak, the local tavern. Her handsome brother had always attracted the attention of the ladies, and as they pushed the door open to the dim-lit room, at least one of the barmaids whistled. She sidled up to Matthias and asked, "What can I get for ye, good man?" She widened her eyes in significance, clearly indicating she would offer him more than a drink if he desired. The innkeeper, a thick, rotund man called Hefty Sal, shooed her away and apologized. "Ne'er mind that 'un, mister Matthias. She's new here and doesn't know the ropes yet. We'll straighten 'er out yet!"
Matthias laughed as Adrienne glared after the maid who quickly scuttled off. "No worries, Sal. She's harmless. Now, can we get ale and bread please?" Hefty Sal nodded and bustled away. Matthias steered Adrienne towards an empty booth against the wall and pushed her into the seat. Sitting across from her, he leaned forward conspiratorially. "Addie, have you heard the rumors?"
Adrienne, confused as ever, shook her head. "Unless you're talking about the king's death, that is soon to be common knowledge, Matti."
Matthias shook his head, and flicking his eyes around the bar to ensure their privacy, he continued. "Not that. Rather, I've heard tell the new king has spies near the River Isen already. It's as if he anticipates trouble upon his coronation."
Not given to such intricacies, Adrienne scoffed, furrowing her brows. "And who have you heard that from, brother? The dairy lass you were seeing last week?"
Matthias replied emphatically. "Of course not, Addie! I've friends in Minas Tirith who passed through here a week ago who told me the king had not much longer to live and that Renault was gathering his men and supporters around him. Only a cornered man does such a thing." Adrienne could see her brother told the truth; Matti was not one for fallacies.
"I trust your word, but Matti, stay away from it! For goodness sakes a young gallant like you would find pleasure in such stories. But we do not know how Renault will turn out. Mayhaps he'll live up to the expectations placed upon him and turn out to be a fair ruler."
"Aye, and mayhaps the skies will start pouring liquid gold from the clouds. Come off it, Addie! But I suppose there's no way to know much of anything until we go to court. 'Twill be an event of the lifetime, that is for sure." He paused as Hefty Sal placed bread, butter, and two tankards of ale in front of them. "This 'un's on the house fer ye," Sal muttered, nudging Matthias. "Yore father did some roofing repairs for me last week. Least I can do for ye." He cracked a smile, revealing yellowing teeth, and walked away. "Anyways," Matthias pressed on, "maybe you'll find yourself a prince!" He winked at his sister insolently.
Adrienne reached across the table and swatted her brother over the head. "You spatter-brained dog!" she teased, pulling a face at Matthias. "Like any prince would look at me sideways! Besides, it's you that needs to be married off. You're becoming too much of a burden for the both of us. 'Tis time Father and I pawned you off on some feckless shrew of a maid!" The two continued to banter until night began to fall. Withdrawing into their respective bedrooms, both fell asleep to night sounds.
(A couple of notes: Tolech-en-Ernil (Prince's Lair) does not actually exist, but the Rangers used to have refuges throughout Ithilien, one of which was Henneth Annûn. It is located just west of Emyn Arnen in South Ithilien.
Also, Laes, does Emir reside in the north North or in North Ithilien. I put in here that the Rangers actually left Ithilien, but I wasn't sure if that's what you meant. I can change as needed!)
[Edited on 3/21/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 3/21/2011 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
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| Erucenindë |
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| Fennuir |
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| NÃnimelle |
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| Dinenlasse |
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| NÃnimelle |
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| Fennuir |
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| ~Laesneniel~ |
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| Nifredil |
RE: A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: April 05, 2011 02:11
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It was deadly quiet in the White Tower. As if the very life itself had died along with the King. The halls and the passages seemed longer and larger, the lights dimmer, as if the candles and the torches were unable to cast as much light as they once did, as if the air were so heavy around them that the flames struggled to live instead of dancing lightly. The tiny tongues of light were sneaking around the oil-soaked cloth wrapped around the torch handle, unwilling to raise, unwilling to even look around.
Ardyn stopped in an empty passage to stare at the fire. His steps halted, and with them died the steady rhythm of his soft riding boots on the stone floor. The echo bounced at the stone walls, lingering. Awkwardly, the man looked over his shoulder, half expecting to be followed, but there was no soul in his vicinity. Of course there was no one, he shook his head. The corridor that should be alive with merrily chattering servants hustling and bustling around their evening chores and just as merry but a lot more dignified nobles walking in groups and having lively conversations – none of it was present. Had it actually been so once? Before the King took to bed, before the kingdom started awaiting his inevitable death, before…
Ardyn sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. Suddenly he felt so tired, so very tired. He opened his palm and looked at it. Something was out of ordinary… Ah yes. The stubble on his usually carefully shaved cheeks around his neatly trimmed beard. That reminded him suddenly of the time that had flown past so fast, hour chasing hour, in the crazy rush to manage all and everything after Hingaer’s death. Ardyn leaned against the cold stone wall, steadying himself on an outstretched arm. He stood like that for a moment, allowing himself to imagine the strength flowing from the ancient walls.
He was startled by the sound of lone approaching footsteps. Ardyn composed himself and turned to see who was coming. Irritation at the impossibility to have even a moment for himself mixed with sudden inexplicable fear and the again-present feeling of being watched or followed, and unexpectedly a flash of anger, born of his own insecurity about what the future was holding, made him straighten his back and meet the young man who turned the corner with a scorn that evaporated the second their eyes met.
“Naurind… what are you doing here so late?” Ardyn was relieved to see a friendly fce.
The young man, smart and neat in his tunic of velvet in such a deep shade of brown it seemed black in the dim torchlight, stopped and eyed his mentor closely.
“I was sent by lady Midlar to take you home,” he stated calmly. “She said your supper would remain on the table until you’re done with it. Roasted pigeon with buckwheat porridge and the famous Blue sauce from Harad.”
Instantly, a smile broke through Ardyn’s beard. His wife always found ways to let him know she cared for him, and those small signs of affection and worry for his wellbeing managed to lighten his mood even when the entire weight of Arda seemed to rest on his shoulders.
“Thank you, Naurind,” Ardyn said with a smile, and found he could breathe more freely again. There were things that hadn’t changed, thanks be to Eru. “I’ll be with you in a moment. I need to see My Lady the Queen first. Will you just wait for me in the Library, please? I’m sure they have a fire going there.”
“Yes, they have,” Naurind nodded, “but my instructions are different,” his face never lost the serious expression, but around the corners of his eyes, there was the slightest glimmer of laughter.
“Oh,” Ardyn said. “And what are your orders then?”
“To follow you around all night long, if necessary, until I’ve brought you home and handed you over to your Lady,” the young man stated very seriously, as if it really were the assignment of his life, then he lost the fight with himself and as Ardyn’s smile broadened, grinned in return
For Ardyn, that laughter relieved the tension he had been under for days, and he felt it leave his body and soul as a stream that had been trapped for too long. He allowed himself a giggle that sounded very strange in the empty passage, then gave Naurind’s shoulder a grateful clap.
“All right, come with me then,” he turned and led the way to the Queen’s chambers, his step a lot lighter than it had been just half an hour ago.
The door was ajar, and Ardyn was about to knock when a shadow crossed the light and by the soft voices he knew the Queen wasn’t alone. Unwilling to spy, he nevertheless moved to take a closer look. The man’s heart flinched as he saw Gerant weep on his mother’s shoulder, the princess laying a comforting hand on his forearm. He took a step backwards, suddenly ashamed of having invaded the grieving family’s privacy. A quick glance at his companion showed Naurind had seen it as well, for his brown eyes narrowed and a frown crossed his smooth forehead. With a silent shake of his head, Ardyn decided his news could wait, and motioned Naurind to follow him away.
It was only when he mounted his horse that Ardyn allowed himself to relax. He was going home. At long last. He had so much to tell his wife, so many thoughts, so many concerns he wanted to share with her. His eyelids heavy, Ardyn never even noticed it was Naurind who ordered the palace gates open, who led the way to Ardyn’s family’s home, who called the wards to let them inside and who held his mentor’s horse’s head to keep the tired beast steady as its rider dismounted. Lady Midlar, hurried outside to meet them, a vision of beauty as always, her tender nature enveloping her like an aura that shone on everyone in her vicinity. She hugged her husband quickly, then took his hand to lead him inside.
“Come join us,” she smiled invitingly at Naurind.
The young man shook his head. “I must return, my Lady. My duties are just abut to begin,” he jumped lightly in his saddle.
“Thank you for bringing him home. Otherwise I wouldn’t see him for several hours.”
“At least,” the young man nodded seriously, “judging by the amount of work yet to be done. But a tired man makes mistakes and does his work slower, so do take good care of him, my Lady.”
“I will. And thank you again,” she gave him another smile.
With a curt nod, Naurind turned his horse and trotted through the empty streets back to the White Tower. He spent several hours walking in the garden while waiting for his turn to take the place of the honorary guard by the deceased King’s body, as was the tradition, so it wasn’t like he had been in hurry. The reason he had turned down Lady Midlar’s invitation was his reluctance to intrude his mentor’s family’s privacy, one of the few they’d be having in the time to come.
The Moon was bright, and his feet found their way through the garden easily. How many moons would change until Prince Renault would be crowned? Naurind was impatient. He knew the time of sorrow had to be observed, and he’d do it dutifully and with his entire heart, for he had loved and respected King Hingaer deeply, it was just that he felt that change was in the air, a change Renault would bring. It was so difficult to wait, so unnerving! Let the change some, let it happen, let it lead Gondor and its people where the new King would lead it. Naurind was sure not all of the changes would be readily accepted, as people tended to get used to certain things and order, but they’d come around, they’d learn to follow a new leader soon enough.
A soft light in a southern-most window caught his attention. Somebody had lit a candle. Naurind knew without looking it was Princess Eira’s window. A figure stood in the window, a feminine figure. Was it the Princess herself, or her servant? Had the candle been lit for light, or was it a way of honoring her father? He had no way of knowing. He said a short prayer for the spirit of his own father who had been in the Halls of Mandos for years already. If anything, the very private grief for losing a loving father was very familiar to him.
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land, beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western seas...
In the Realm of Ulmo |
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| Dinenlasse |
RE: A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: April 07, 2011 03:10
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'T....the da...day befo....before Fa....Father die....died, I vi.....visited hi...him. I to.....told hi...him I did...didn't tru....trust..., someone, bu...but Fa...Father go...got an....angry a....at me. I sto....stormed aw....away af....after shou....shouting: I.....I wish yo...you we....were dea...dead!' Tears now streamed freely over his cheeks as he cried. And he felt relieved. The guilt in his heart was lifted, but replaced for a big amount of sadness.
'It should have been me, not him!'
Gwyneira held her son as he poured out his heart on her shoulder. "Darling, you did nothing wrong. Your father was not in his right mind when he struck out at you; there is no other reason to explain it. Had he been, he would have listened to your thoughts without judgment; you know this! It does not to dwell on the hurts of the past, love, especially now that we are about to chart a new course in history. Now," she stepped away, hands touching his shoulders, "who is it you do not trust?" Her blue eyes gazed into Gerant's. With a sinking feeling, she had an idea of who it was.
After her children left for the night, Gwyneira felt restless. This was probably her last moment alone for the next several days as the funeral preparations commenced, and the realm was thrown into mourning for the next several months. All her tears had been shed; there was not much more to do than to celebrate his life. The elders often said that Hingaer was one of the greatest and fairest monarchs since Elessar. That was one thing to be proud of. Furthermore, Gwyneira was not going to fade into the shadows and would council Renault on politics, marriage, and other things as he began his reign.
Oh yes, the queen sensed there was to be a flurry of weddings in the coming months if not years. Gwyneira knew the council would begin pressuring the young princes and princess to wed within the next couple of years. She had no grandchildren yet, and now she was to be Dowager Queen, Gwyneira would have more time to spend with her (hopefully expanding) family. But she also knew that marriage was a political necessity. She knew of plenty of lovely young men and women that would be suitable matches for her sons and daughter, but none of them had shown any inclination to marry. Mayhaps a ball to celebrate the accession of Renault as king as well as the life of Hingaer was in order soon...she would speak to the Master of Revels later...
Later that evening at dinner, the queen remained silent throughout the meal amidst all of the tensions. Aeron and Gerant conversed quietly with each other while Renault glared at them both. She frowned at Renault's question to Aeron about the armor but said nothing, not wanting to interfere. They were grown men after all. When all of her sons left abruptly, leaving Eira and Gwyneira alone at the table still laden with uneaten food. Gwyneira sighed sadly and spoke to Eira. "It might be time we settled down for the night, dear. As my father used to say, boys will be boys."
*~*~*~*~*
The three riders appeared in front of the huge stone gates that separated the city from the surrounding countryside. The guards looked sternly down at them, and one called out, "Who goes there? What business have you here?" Thyrin squinted up to see the guard, who was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. He stated his name, position, and purpose, and they were allowed to ride through. They entered along the wide road known as the Rath Celerdain (Lampwrights' Street). A few hundred yards away was the famous inn known as the Old Guesthouse. Thyrin made a note to himself for a possible meeting place as they trotted their horses towards the Second Gate. Adrienne noted the lack of people that inhabited the streets, even though it was generally the busiest part of the day. Shutters on houses were closed against the bright sunlight. Adrienne halted Gringolet and leaned over her horse's neck. "The streets are dead," she mused, shading her eyes against the blinding white cobblestones.
Thyrin echoed his daughter's sentiments. "Aye, but could you have expected less after the death of a beloved monarch, Addie? Everyone will be required to observe at least a month of mourning for the king, if not more, before the prince's coronation. I've rumours of a year-long wait. No business transactions will be conducted today. The market is closed. The guards are sullen and sad. 'Tis a sad day indeed for the White City."
Matthias rode up alongside his sister and looked around. "Not even the beggars are around. We must be among the only people here. What business have we here, Father?"
Thyrin glanced at his son, shielding his eyes from the sun. "We seek an audience with the new king as well as to send our condolences. Furthermore, I've word Emir is on his way, and I have important business with him and some others."
At those words, Adrienne turned sharply to her father, confused. "Business?"
Thyrin nodded, eyes downcast. "Yes. But come, 'tis not safe to speak in the open where roving eyes can see us and roving ears can hear us." He nudged his horse forward. Slowly the riders climbed the hills of the city, moving through the various rings and encountering very few people. In the sixth circle, they left their horses to handlers to be stabled and entered into the seventh circle where the royal family resided. A steward met them outside the White Tower and asked Thyrin with a bow, "Are you expected, sir?"
"My visit will come as a surprise, friend. I have come to offer support for her Majesty and her family. My family and I grieve deeply at the loss of our great monarch. We have offered blessings and said prayers for his quick and safe passage to the Halls of Mandos." Thyrin spoke solemnly and gravely, his demeanor speaking of great sadness. He was genuinely sad at the king's death but even sadder at the prospect that Gondor might come under a hard-handed ruler.
"Indeed, my lord. The queen and their Highnesses are bereft. Shall you be staying long here? What services can I provide?" The steward asked courteously with another bow.
Thyrin considered him. "We shall be here as long as her Majesty needs us. Whatever help or support we can give, we shall be glad to give it. And as of now, we need nothing, friend. How fares Prince Renault?"
The steward masked a slight grimace at the name. "To be fair and honest, my lord, he seems almost glad of his father's passing. He attempts to pass it off as happiness that King Hingaer's suffering has ended, but many people suspect it is but a facade." He stopped, eyes widening in fear as if he spoke too much. Thyrin narrowed his gaze intently, imploring the man to continue. "Her Majesty surmises something is amiss with Prince, now King, Renault. It has been but a few days since the late king died, and his Highness has already begun consolidating his power. Are you for his Highness, Lord Thyrin?"
Adrienne noticed her father hesitate, biding his time and choosing his words carefully. "It is not for me to be against him. I support the royal family, including the king. I should never want my loyalty to them to be questioned." The steward nodded gravely at the words and bowed them into their quarters near the White Tower.
Adrienne left her family with promises of meeting later that afternoon and explored her quarters. Fortunately, an attentive maid had cleaned the large, airy room, had opened the windows, and laid fresh rushes on the stone ground. There was no fire in the ornate fireplace, especially since the sun was streaming in through the window, warming the room immensely. The room itself was large and spacious, pentagonal in shape. Against one wall was the fireplace, along the second a large bed, against two others were large windows, and the final wall had the large oaken door that led to the outside corridor. The room was furnished with several wardrobes, a desk, a wooden table and chairs, and a separate privy and dressing chamber that was separated from the main room by another door. Adrienne sighed happily amidst her sadness about Hingaer; she had greatly missed Minas Tirith.
An hour later, Adrienne, washed and dressed simply in a green gown threaded with silver, girdled with a cream cord, left her room. Thyrin had told her and Matthias they might meet with the royal family or at the least their uncle later that night. Adrienne did not relish the thought of meeting either looking as dusty as the road upon which they had traveled. Her footsteps took her outside into the large courtyard which held the White Tree. The sun, albeit lower in the sky, still made the Tree gleam like marble. No one else appeared to be about except for the guards. Feeling adventurous, Adrienne stepped quietly across the stones and made her way to the edge of the city. Below her in a dizzying drop were the other six rings of the city. She held her breath, forgetting just how massive Minas Tirith was. It was not just the Citadel, she mused, it was an entire city. The Pelennor Fields lay before here, and from here, she could barely discern any workers, unless they were the tiny black dots that she saw moving below. It was here that she truly felt tiny. Adrienne came out of her reverie as someone hailed her.
(Laes, thanks for the clarification! It fits in perfectly with Thyrin being Steward of Ithilien if the Rangers are gone from there.  Everything is fine on my end!)
[Edited on 4/8/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 4/8/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 5/25/2011 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
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~Stella~ElemmÃrë of Varda and Merry\'s Illustrated SupperPosts: 1167 Send Message |
RE: A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: April 23, 2011 03:53
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(OOC: JP done between Nínimelle and myself)
The woman of Rohan had ridden nearly non-stop for a good two weeks to get to her destination. It could’ve taken her less time, however Llamrei had chosen the longest route to get to Gondor. She wasn’t looking forward to going to the allied city. She had never been and had never planned upon it. However, that all changed when her father had told her she was to wed a Prince of Rohan – Gerant – as he showed her a painting of the man. He was all right, for a Gondorian…for a man…but she had no urge to marry him or anyone. That fact, she had told her father time and again. But, didn’t listen – he never did. Nor did he seem to care. Thus, she rode off to Gondor.
And so here she was, atop Rhiannon, her chestnut mare, away from her beloved plains and her men and in these dark, dense forests that surrounded her new home. Through the semi-darkness of the woods, she peered. Her brow was creased and blond hair whipped around her olive hued coat. Hearing something, she stopped. She slid off her horse. Pressing a finger to her lips to signal Rhiannon to be quiet, drew her sword, and crept forward with one hand holding the reins and the other holding the sword.
Llamrei crept forward. Reaching the man, she pointed her sword and pressed the tip lightly against his back. “Turn around. Show your face,” she said in a firm voice.
Gerant froze as he felt steel against his back. He turned and faced a young woman. She was of the Rohirrim, that was for sure. He hoped the tears on his face had faded and didn't show themselves. He didn't want to look weak.
He drew his blade. 'I would look out, were I you.' He warned, placing his blade against hers.
She laughed a little - humorously. “Do you honestly think that I’m afraid of you or your empty threats,” Llamrei asked. “You have no idea who I am.”
The woman took a step back so her blade wasn’t touching his. She dropped the reins in her hands and then slowly circled her. Her eyes never left the man and she never turned her back on him. She then backed up again. Turning for a moment, she started for denser woods. But, she then turned again and charged the man before her. She dipped the sword below his and aimed at his leg. She didn’t want to kill him – no. Now, that wouldn’t do, would it?
“I am not afraid of death or pain. I am a Rohirrium. I am a soldier. I am a ranger. Nothing can take that away from me. Not even marriage,” she hissed.
Gerant fell to the ground as he tried to dodge her sword. He stared at her, amazed.
'Wait a minute, marriage? You are Llamrei, aren't you?' He got up, taking his sword and sheathing it. He bowed. 'I am Gerant, youngest prince of Gondor.'
She watched, eyebrow cocked, as he fell. Llamrei pressed the tip of her sword against his collarbone. After a moment, she pulled it away and continued to stare at him as he stood. She never offered her any help to him.
“How did you know,” she asked, sheathing her own sword. “I am indeed Llamrei. Only child of King Elfwine. Though I don’t really care for titles or the duties that come with them. You could be a beggar all I care. But, I know who you are. I knew the second I saw you. I assume my father didn’t send a complementarily painting, as yours did, thus you didn’t know. But, truthfully, I don’t care if you didn’t know.”
'When you said marriage, I knew. I was supposed to meet you somewhere in the forest. And you are just like you were described. Maybe your father sent a painting. Mine didn't give it probably, sick as he was he thought the marriage wouldn't succeed.' Gerant had to close his eyes a few seconds to keep his tears back.
'I see you don't want this marriage. But perhaps we can become friends.'
“Oh, so the Gondorians have one man who will use his wit to solve troubles,” Llamrei stated. “I have been told that their brawn is more important than their brains.” She laughed a little and shrugged.
Llamrei looked around. “I wasn’t told where to meet you. I was told the simple facts – the when and the country,” she said. “My father is not one to be forthcoming on details. Nor, is he open about his children…he heir. I am the shame to the House of Rohan, not that it matters.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. She frowned a little. “And what were you told? Did you know I was fighter? A woman of the plains? Respected amongst her guard for not only fighting, but with speaking. An opinionated, strong willed woman who lives for a fight and a horse ride? Or were you told the story my father oft states that I am a meek and docile thing who takes to her beds with headaches? That second one is a lie….a cover up for where I am all the time….and also the one that wouldn’t scare a man away from me.”
A smile played over her lips. “On whose account would he think the marriage would fail? Because of you and your ways? Or because of me and mine,” she asked. “Not that it matters to me.”
She eyed the man. Her brow furrowed. “No, I don’t want this or any marriage. I would much rather turn around and go back to my men and my plains. But, alas! I cannot. We’re destined to marry and so we must,” she said. “Friends? Perhaps, if I come to trust you.”
Gerant sighed, brushing some dirt from his tunic. 'I do not prefer anything above reading. I spent many days in a library.' He said.
'Well, I was told to meet you here by my brother, Ren....,' Gerant stopped his sentence there, thinking. 'Renault.' He spat, eyes turning dark. 'Excuse me, milady. My brother Renault is not a very trusting man. Yet, he may not know I think this of him. So keep this with you and tell no one.'
He looked at her, smiling slightly. 'Yes, I was told you were a woman of the plains. A fighter. But that attracted me, at the time. I don't want a wife, really. But I would like a friend. And you, Llamrei, sounded very nice.'
Then he sighed. 'The marriage would fail on my account. My father began to think different. As he used to love me and Aeron, he now thought me weak and disrespectful. So, it would be me to blame.'
“Are you a rarity amongst your men,” she asked. Llamrei cocked her head to one side. “I enjoy a good story, but my heart belongs to the plains. I respect a good mind. One cannot fight without a sharp wit.”
She looked around the woods and shuddered a little. She didn’t like this place. “Err…interesting place for a meeting. Wouldn’t it have been more proper to have it in the court or did your brother fancy us to have sword play, which would be very unacceptable in a castle,” she muttered.
“I am not a very trusting woman,” she said. “But, I do not spend my idol time telling secrets or gossip. It’s a waste of everyone’s time and energy.”
Llamrei looked at his dubiously. She cocked her eyebrow a little as she studied him. “You are odd man,” she commented. “It normally scares a man away. But, do I not appeal to you now? Does the fact I am a freighter and a plains woman attract you? Or do I revolt you and you wish me to leave? You used past tense.”
She laughed a little. “You have a wife, whether you want one or not. And I have a husband, which I do not want,” she said. “It’s not you, it’s that I don’t want anyone.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think it would be because of you. I don’t stay in a place for long. I don’t like it. I need to ride and keep moving,” she said. She looked behind her. “I would run…if I could.”
Gerant laughed softly. 'I may be a rarity yes, Aeron has called me that several times. But those were better times.' His eyes finally showed the usual light of mischief and mirth, which had been gone since he heard of his father's death.
'I think Renault fancied me being killed. I warn you now, don't think to free. He'll have you killed. Even the bravest women or men, wouldn't be able to get away from Renault.' Gerant suppressed a shudder.
'I did use past tense, because as I look to you now, I know that it will take me a lot of time to make you a friend. But I still want that. I mean, we will soon be wed.' Gerant sighed to that. 'None of us wants that, unfortunately. But we do share love for the plains. For riding. I would gladly join you on journeys, far away from here.'
Gerant looked at her. 'Now, you could of course go. I could tell everyone I didn't meet you. That I couldn't find you. You'd be free.'
Llamrei cocked her head to one side. She brushed a thick strand of blond hair away from her face. “We all can’t fit the norms,” she replied with a shrug.
“I might be a woman of the plains and a ranger, but I know how to deal with dignitaries,” she said. “I am, after all, the heir of the Rohan crown. I was schooled on such matters as the people and the state.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Past also means you don’t fancy me anymore,” Llamrei pointed out. “But, yes, it shall I warrant. Stubbornness and pride runs freely through my veins.”
“Are you a fast rider?” she asked as she went over to her horse. Rhiannon was grazing nearby. The woman of Rohan took of the reins.
“Do you take me as a coward? No, I am not. Although running sounds lovely, I won’t. I shan’t make you a liar. Now, let’s go to court, I suppose,” she said, mounting her mare. Pressing her sides, she started off towards the castle. “And out of the blasted woods!”
(Will bring in my other character soon)
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RE: A King's Legacy (KEEP)
on: May 06, 2011 02:39
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(The second part of this is a JP between Laes and myself. Enjoy!)
Thyrin knew his audience with the Queen was over after the servants and soldiers fled the presence chamber and the crown prince appeared outside in the narrow, stone corridor. With a cursory bow to Gwyneira, Thyrin dismissed himself from the palace with a sinking feeling of foreboding. Renault would not take kindly to any threat to his power nor to any perceived slight by another country. But how he would react was up for speculation.
With these thoughts at the forefront of his mind, Thyrin began the return to his quarters. Speculation, rumors, apprehension, fear, somberness were rife in the air. Such a different feeling than had been when old Hethrom died and Hingaer acceded to the throne, the Ithilien Steward mused, as he traveled through the main hallway in the White Tower. People had hailed the accession of Hingaer with high expectations and hope rather than anxiety and fear. His solid footsteps took him past elaborate tapestries, each describing a different story from Minas Tirith’s past. Over the years, stories had been added of Aragorn Elessar’s greatness, his son Eldarion’s prowess and victories over the remainder of Mordor’s forces, other renowned deeds of Gondor's more illustrious descendants.
Within the library, he heard shouting and the sound of a slap. Something had upset one of the royal ladies-perhaps Gwyneira had had enough of Renault already. It was none of Thyrin's business to interfere in any of it, however. He had his own family and his own business to attend to. The lord quickly continued his walk outside; Thyrin did not desire to be accused of eavesdropping.
*~*~*~*~*
"Good evening, Milord and Lady Adrienne." Emir said as he crossed the space between them. He bowed quickly to both with a small smile.
Adrienne acknowledged Aeron's departure with a bobbed head and a quick curtsy. Her eyes followed him for a minute, and the lady from Ithilien swore he glanced back in her direction once or twice. But she shrugged it off inwardly, knowing full well the pressures and duties of being a noble. Aeron was a busy and desired man here.
Adrienne soon turned her full attention to Emir and the lad. A smile lit her face as she now curtsied to the Ranger, a good friend of her father's and of whom she was immensely fond. "Lord Emir, welcome back to the South! It has been some time since the men of the North have favored us Southrons with their presence!" Her grin turned on the young man, around her own age, who clearly desired to be elsewhere. "How have things fared for you as of late?" Adrienne asked, flicking her eyes back to Emir. She lowered her voice. "The rumor mill has it there has been unrest in the north already, and they know not of the king's passing."
Emir sighed and nodded, taking on a grim look, "I cannot tell you much, my Lady, because I have yet to speak with your father, but what I can say is that there is a measure of truth to the rumors. I, myself and my companion only learned of the King's passing this morning as we entered Minas Tirith." he replied, just as quiet.
"We also heard that Renault was to be king, surely this is not true? I thought the King and Queen were going to remove him from succession, due to his...character." The Ranger let his eyes absorb his surroundings, paying attention to every detail.
Adrienne lowered her gaze, shaking her head in confusion. "So much has been happening lately that it is hard to determine the fallacies from the truth. But for certain Renault will be king. Such succession changes would have gone against tradition, something their Majesties would not have challenged. The elders on the council are such sticklers for protocol." She paused, trusting Emir to not repeat anything she said. "Renault remains suspicious of everyone. He's taken procedures to gather his strength around him already, his father being but dead only a week. Things certainly are moving quickly, but such should not be discussed in the open. Father is due for an audience with the Queen at the moment; he'll join us later, though I'll warrant he did not expect your company already. He'd left you a message in Tolech-en-Ernil!"
The sun began to retreat from its zenith, lengthening the shadows. Adrienne noted its passing, certain that at some point, there would be some stirrings in the lower rungs of the city. "Come, let us retreat into my chambers until Father returns when at such time you'll be able to speak freely." She turned and began to traverse the courtyard. "Emir," she continued, "who is your companion? He's nary spoken a word!"
The Ranger nodded gravely, Renault was always a suspicious man at heart. No doubt he wanted to make sure that everything from here forward would lead to his being King and not one fo his younger brothers.
"I had important matters to speak with the King about, so we passed by Tolech-en-Ernil in an effort to get here sooner." he said as he fell in step beside the woman, "I look forward to speaking with your father, inspite of the grim news he must have." They were silent for a few moments then Emir answered her last question as they passed by Druick. The young man had lost his blush, but still had his arms crossed in a stoic stance.
"This is Druick, a fellow Ranger and friend." a delightened thought crossed his mind - the poor man needed lightening up anyway. He leaned in close to Adrienne and whispered loud enough for Druick to hear as they paused a few feet away from him, "I believe he hasn't spoken anything because he'd rather not make a fool of himself in front of a beautiful lady, given that he ran away the last time it happened."
Adrienne cocked an eyebrow. A mischievous gleam lit her eye. She spoke to Emir, "Now here indeed is a novelty! A young, handsome man who shies away from women? Surely such a thing has never been heard of! I cannot entirely believe he'd run from a pretty lady. Come now, sir," she now addressed Druick. "does my presence offend you or startle you? For if so, I shall make myself meek, humble, a true lady as it were. Then you needn't be afraid of me; liken me to a mouse!" She teased the poor lad who remained poised in front of her, solid as a rock.
Emir struggled not to chuckle as Druick's face flushed once more. The young man grimaced, silently cursing his friend.
"I do not...I do not..shy away from women." Druick started plainly, grinding his teeth. "I merely..merely...avoid them now." He turned and looked at Adrienne, smiling slightly, "But a lady as beautiful as you should never be avoided, even by someone as lowly as myself." He faced the pair fully and went down on one knee, regardless of the slight shaking of his head that Emir gave. If they wanted to play, so would he.
"Look upon her face! Oh how it glows with the setting sun, like a bright radiance from a gentle candle! See her skin! How gloriantly smooth it is! Her eyes! Such beauty they are, that she should be an elf and not one of us lowly mortals!" he extended his arms with a flourish and bowed from his waist, "Not even myself, a mere Ranger can look upon her without feeling love burst within his heart." Druick staggered dramatically to his feet, "Now please excuse me, for I must go and repent for gazing upon Lady Adrienne of great beauty." He weaved away, smiling idiotically until, to finish the show, he fell forward to the stone and laid there unmoving, attempting not to laugh outright.
A peal of laughter burst forth from Adrienne. Eyes watering in merriment, she asked Emir, "Is he always like this? If so, then he'll be rightly welcomed at court!"
Just then, Thyrin crossed the threshold to the massive oaken door that led outside from the White Tower. He immediately saw his daughter, Emir, and Druick (still on the ground) and approached them. His sober demeanor turned into a wide grin as he commented at the spectacle before him, "Well now, it appears I've come at about the right time." He helped Druick up from his position on the ground. "All this frolicking! For shame! Emir, I'd have expected more from you!" Laughing, Thyrin shook hands with his old friend and asked, "Well met, friend! You appear in good health."
Matthias, now dressed in a sharp black tunic and light leggings, came out of his quarters at around the same time and joined the larger group. "Addie!" he cried, coming to his sister's side. "What has you in such a thrall?!"
She gestured helplessly at Druick, still doubled up laughing.
Emir shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, smiling at Thyrin, "Do not expect what cannot be given, old friend, but everything is well." using his hands still clasped with the lord's, he pulled him closer, "What news I have is better spoken when there is less chance of being overheard." the Ranger nodded to the guards on the other side of the courtyard before letting Thyrin go completely, so as not to attract more attention. Drucik, observing this, had kept dusting off his now-rumpled clothes while placing his gaze on the pair. Adrienne was still laughing while the newest member to their group stood helplessly at her side. He smiled and walked over to them, "I had only meant to make her smile, I had no idea that I would break her, milord." he bowed to the other man who looked to be close to his age.
Matthias, as much as he desired to join his father and friend, instead returned the bow, a grin crossing his face. Immediately he recognized a kindred spirit in their new companion. "Friend, I'd be more worried she'd break you. My sister can be quite a handful," he said, placing his hands on Adrienne's shoulders. "I am Matthias, son of Thyrin." He shook hands with the young Ranger.
Adrienne straightened up, using Matthias as a support. "I apologize, Lord Druick. I had not meant to provoke you or laugh at you. I appreciate a good dose of humor, however, especially given the state of the city at the moment. I am Adrienne of Tolech-en-Ernil," she said, with a slight dip and inclination of her head. "Now what do you reckon those two are discussing?" she asked generally.
Druick looked quickly to the other men and then back to the siblings, "Yes," he said cautiously, wary of unheeded ears possibly around, "I do have an idea of the contents of their discussion, but I feel that my Chief is better equipped to explain them than myself."
Matthias studied Emir and Thyrin intently, deep in thought. "Aye, I've an idea also from Father's end. Addie, we'll discuss this later. Other...developments...have already arisen," he said grimly. "But come, we should leave those two to their devices for now. You know Father does not keep us long in the dark, sister." He steered his sister back towards their quarters. "Care you to take a meal with us, friend? We'd certainly appreciate your company."
Druick nodded, "I would delighted to dine with you both." He started after them, then paused, looking over at his Chief. Should he let Emir know? Druick shook his head, No, the Ranger will no doubt find him soon enough, might as well enjoy himself while he could. With that, he followed Adrienne and Matthias.
*~*~*~*~*
Gwyneira's younger sons still stood before her, heaving with adrenaline and exertion even as they returned to her private chambers, awestruck at her actions. Breathing heavily she sat down but not before noticing Gerant swoon and place a hand against his brow. Her fingers traced the indentations in the chair arms as she mused. "Your father will be buried in due process and state in a week. As the messengers have all been sent out, formally by myself or otherwise"-here her eyes roved to Aeron, knowing very well he'd have sent out other messengers to his own people-"and thus it gives plenty of time for domestic and foreign dignitaries to arrive. Arrangements have begun for their stay, the Master of the Revels is planning feasting and entertainment, and plenty of people are coming. The affair itself will be a solemn occasion, but we shall not mourn, though the outward appearance is we are. Your father would rather us celebrate his life than dwell on his passing, something I promised him on his deathbed that I would do.
And yes, Gerant, the Rohanian king will come. Should he not, 'twould be another slap in the face in light of his daughter's blatant subversion of her orders. But he has other daughters, quite lovely and not as...headstrong...as Llamrei is. I daresay Llamrei may very well not show here, which, in truth, may be for the better."
[Edited on 5/7/2011 by Dinenlasse]
[Edited on 5/25/2011 by Dinenlasse]
"There is no such thing as a geek, just those who love things the rest of humanity finds weird."
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