Elendor
Cloak and Dagger
Men of the Company of Ithilien arrange for the escape of their Haradrim prisoner and then entreat with the enemy.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Harondor
Game Date: January 3046
IC Time: Evening
Description:
RL DATE: Sunday Feb 1 2009
[Gurtir(#30678)]
The sky above says not whether it's day or night perhaps because none can tell: twilight is neither. A tense, heavy atmosphere pervades the Gondorian camp on account of its leader death.
Amidst the tents of the Company of Ithilien, an unsuspecting one, though previously constantly guarded, is now simply the place of gathering for a trio of men.
Death looms over them hope too.
One is Gurtir. He wears his tabard, a faint glint of silver under the torch-light reveals, yet a pitch-black cloak with hood is fastened over his shoulders, ready to conceal his entire form should need arise.
"I shall speak to him."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad stands nearby, ready as if for an errand he has long considered and is ready to pursue to whatever end it takes him. He looks at the captain and waits patiently for events to unfold.
Here, too, is Ceredir, arms crossed over his chest as he waits silently. One foot taps out an unorganized rhythm in the dirt, but done so softly it can scarce be heard. He nods to Gurtir.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir lifts the flap of the tent and enters it.
Ceredir follows, gesturing for Thingalad to do likewise.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy lays tied still as he was when last his visitors came. He head is bowed, but he clean, signs of fresh bandages underneath the vest he wears. He does not stir as the trio enter.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad follows.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Awaken, boy."
Gurtir tells Yildirim.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad cradles his two-handed hammer in the crook of his arm as he watches the boy grimly.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
There is a grunt followed by a slow groan as the Umbarean's head slowly lifts. As it comes into view, it is clear that his wounds here have too been treated recently. His head flops weakly back, landing against the pole as his blinded face looks idly up.
"One does not sleep in such situations," his voice rasps.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"I need your help."
Gurtir replies at the boy, gesturing for Ceredir to remove the blindfold and waits before going on.
"Long have I pondered on your Lord's claim, and the sight of his eyes as he spoke does not leave my mind his words struck me, for I dream of a new Gondor..."
"Will you take me and these men of my house to see him? Will you help us speak with, claimant Lord of Ithilien to claimant King of Gondor?"
Behind Yildirim, Ceredir kneels and unties the blindfold, tucking it into his belt. There's a bucket of water here, and he scoops some into a ladle and brings that, dripping, over to the boy.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
As the fold is removed and the Captain finishes his words, the boy works his jaw, but no words come, he expression an obvious lack of any words to say.
"I wish to say you are a liar and a fool to try and trick me with such words, but," he looks to the three men, blinking away the darkness and hallucinations hidden behind the fold. He sips from the water willingly as it is offered, "I... I do not have words. I think there is a great joy in my heart that even three in thousands would listen."
He pauses, his features hardened, brow furrowed, "Unless this is but more cruelty."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"It is not."
"I dream, boy, of Gondor of principles, no longer solely focused on war a Gondor of lore, a Gondor of justice.", Gurtir speaks, staring straight into Yildirim's eyes, his Dunadan blood flaming within his smoke gray eyes, and no lie therein. Ere continuing, he averts his gaze to Ceredir.
"Unbind him so he can see we mean it have you brought a blade for him as I requested?"
And still watching the scout's movements, he speaks on.
"Help us. Help me."
The ropes--first the boy's hands, then his legs--are cut. And then Ceredir takes out a small dagger and offers it, hilt first, to the boy. "Food I have, as well. You will need your strength. Bread and cheese."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
"What you ask may be too much."
Yet even as he speaks, his eyes no longer watch the Dunadan but instead the scout. He stretches his fingers as they are freed, massaging them back to life. As the dagger is offered, he takes it slowly, his fingers testing its edge. He looks to Ceredir then to the others, for a moment malice burns in his eyes and then it fades and he tucks the blade away in his vest.
"I have told no lies, I am but a boy, untested in politics and war. I can speak on your behalf. I can fight and die to allow you your request, but I cannot grant it." He refuses the bread, taking only the cheese.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad listens to this impassively. "Kings of Men are kind of merciful as well as just."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"I ask nothing else from you... Yildirim?"
He offers a nod at both Thingalad and Ceredir... his eyes lock anew on the young Corsair.
"Whenever you are ready."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy glances to his ankles, still bound, then smiles at the captain. Taking the dagger, he frees himself from his last restraint. It takes several minutes for the boy to regain the use of his legs and then he stands, a fair share shorter than the three men.
He stretches once more, arms and legs, and then nods to the Captain, "For the first time and the last, I am yours to command."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Have you his cloak, Thingalad?"
Gurtir nods at the young haradrim before glancing at his kinsman.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad offers a cloak. It is not the cloak. "This will conceal him when we pass by the guards."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The cloak is taking and donned, the boy appear more street urchin than soldier in the tent's low light.
******************
On the way across the river:
Yildirim whispers as they make their way across the Poros, "Your friends will have my debt to them paid with my actions across the River. You," he pauses, "For you you have bought the life of one Gondorian. Should I find myself on the field of battle and have the chance to kill, I will forgo and allow them refuge. Too, my blade shall not taste your blood, unless you threaten my family or my superiors. That you have bought with your deeds this night."
Ceredir, in return, offers the barest of nods. And when he has the chance, his whispered reply is emotionless. "My breaking of our parley has already been paid for with the blood of one of Gondor."
With a shake of his head, Yildirim rebuts, "That and this cannot be combined. What done is done. What is is. My debt remains for me. This is how I will pay it. No more will we speak on this." He turns away and focuses on wading through the currents.
*****************************************
On the South side of the Poros, in the Farside Camp:
Main Tent
In the evening hours it is cool in the pavilion but not so cold as outside. Warm cooking fires smolder down the center of the huge tent but in the darkness you can discern little detail. Many woven blankets hang to partition off the space into cubicals and upon the floor over rush mats are laid the many sleeping pallats of furs and roughly woven cloth. Bodies sprawl all over, dozens sleeping and living here. Smells of foods, smoke, unwashed bodies and animals pervade the air but it is homey. Although it is night, several pairs of watchful eyes look up in the fire light to inspect whomever comes in. Hushed voices of the elders can be heard at any time.
(For more information about these tribes, type: Narakshi )
[Alphros(#31271)]
The Narakshi tribesmen have erected a great pavilion in their fashion, much like the one that would have stood here ere Prince Elphir of Gondor and his Swan-knights came hither with fire and sword, driving the ferocious Haradrim south.
Its interior is vast, though whereas it might normally be filled with gaiety and the music of the Southron desert folk, today it is quieter. Some Corsairs lounge here, some Crusaders stand at guard there, and a few Naraksi are gathered about the smoldering coals of a firepit, throwing powder into it and mumbling away in their tongue.
At the far end of the pavilion, in a wide long chair wrought of ebon-like wood, sits the self-proclaimed Claimant to the Throne of Gondor and would-be Lord of Umbar, Alphros anAzulada. He lounges in his chair, veiled face turned to one side, and in his hands sits a lyre. He strums at it with knowing hands the elegaic figurations of an old tune whisper away into the air.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The tent flap is opened and in walk the strange party, announced well ahead of their coming. At their lead, the young boy sworn into Farside but a week ago, Yildirim. Pale and thin, his face swollen and stained with bruises of purples and blues, he manages his voice with strength nonetheless.
"Lord-Steward, three have come to speak with you. They have looked beyond the arrogance of their heritage and would give your words a fair ear, if you would have them in your presence."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Stripped of weapons, Thingalad enters the tent and looks around at the splendor of the place. He nods slightly, comparing it with the spartan accommodations of the Gondor camp and he smiles with approval. Looking then to the king, he steps forward and kneels behind the boy.
The youngest of the three men of Gondor is but 4 or 5 years older than Yildirim. Though his arms have been surrendered to the Haradrim, Ceredir still wears his leather armor and the garb of Ithilien, his cloak thrown back over his shoudlers. He is hesitant--looking about in wonder, and then, with a quick glance to Thingalad, he copies that man's movements and takes a knee.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad sits at Alprhos' side, listening to the music he plays, perhaps, but it may only be assumed by the positioning of her body, for her eyes are on the room, smoldering dark orbs glancing at each man, watching the movement of each hand. She leans in to whisper something to Alphros, then returns to her former position.
[<#20109>] Su'ad +whispers to Alphros, "... know, ... father ... seemed ... ... ... to be ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......... ... ... of ...."
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros straightens a little in his chair as the young Corsair and the three Gondorians approach, and the music fades away as his fingers abandon their play upon the lyre-strings. He regards the northerners thoughtfully for a long silent, and then looks at Yildirim: "You are returned to us, Corsair, alive. My sister will be pleased..."
Then to the others: "You will be thanked, if for nothing but that. Azradi is fond of him." Then he leans forward, intently, "Rise, and name yourselves, Men of Gondor, so I might know who comes with open ears yet such guarded hearts to speak to me."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Rising, the first one calls out, "I am Thingalad of the Carmayar! Ready to serve you, my king and show you the secret paths of my home we call the Garden." Thingalad salutes in the manner of the Company of Ithilien.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros then leans back in response to the whisper. "Your father had a wisdom of his own then that I would not have expected, even if you find true honour here among us." Then he glances at Thingalad, and awaits the others.
"I am called Ceredir, lord," the youngest of the three says as he, too, stands now. "This soldier of your realm," he gestures to Yildirim, "his words spoke to me."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
The third man, tall and noble of blood by his visage and bright stare, likewise offers Alphros a bow.
"I am Gurtir of the Carmayar, claimant Lord of my kin I long for a new Gondor and therefore I here come to hear further of your own claim and plans."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad leans in to hear Alphros' response, and smiles thinly, but then sits back and discusses it no longer. When each man introduces himself, she smiles at him and inclines her head in acknowledgement. When they are finished, she shifts position in her chair seemingly effortlessly, despite recent injuries. "The three, wise men of Gondor. It is a delight to meet ones such as you," she says in Westron with dulcet tones, less like a corsair and more like a lady. But deep in her eyes, there is an occasional flash of anger. She puts that away, though, and looks at the Umbarean man. "And Yildirim, I am also glad to see you safe."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad nods again. "I seek lands and titles to prove to a great lord that I am worthy of his daughter's hand."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy manages a smile as Su'ad's words, wincing as it comes. But Yildirim says naught, waiting instead for his Steward to speak.
[Alphros(#31271)]
"Yes indeed," Alphros echoes the Corsair Su'ad by his side, "The Three Wise Men of Gondor come. But what broods in the hearts and minds beneath mail and the legacy of stone?"
The lordling in the chair places aside the lyre and leans forward, resting his arms upon his knees as he regards the Gondorians keenly from behind his golden veil. "Two of Carmayar... bloodline of the Black Sword, no, which once ruled both South and East in days of yore? And one," he glances at Ceredir, "Of blood unknown to me, and to you it would seem." Alphros glances at Yildirim: "Whatever transpires here, Corsair Yildirim, you will be rewarded for your deeds, and know that the dishonour done to you has already been redeemed."
Then the would-be King speaks again to the Gondorians. "You come here seeking more, I know. Assurances. Proof, no doubt. Know that this I will offer you: first a tale, or two, to grant you your assurances. Then you may ask me questions of your own. Then I shall grant you the proof that you desire."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad shakes his head vehemently. "I seek not proof, but rather the striking of bargains. My ancient house once ruled these lands. Gondor is weak and I will follow any warlord who can offer me what my station at home cannot. Is that you, my king?"
Ceredir's eyes close briefly at the words of the Lord Steward, and then he nods his head slowly. But he does not offer any explanations.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir nods as Alphros speaks.
"So be it."
Then, at Thingalad's words, he holds his peace, though his eyes lift to better evaluate his countryman and the would-be King.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad's eyes narrow, and she cants her head to the side slightly. "Oh surely, some history or explanation is required? Some proof?" she says suspiciously.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros looks upon Thingalad, and one might sense the raising of an eyebrow behind a veil. "Black Sword to the last... Kingship is a matter of right, Thingalad of Carmayar, not petty warlordship. I shall address my right and then we may address yours, for it seems your countrymen would hear the tale."
Then the would-be King of Gondor tells his tale: "Two thousand years and more ago, Tarannon Falastur -- first of the Ship-kings -- took as his queen a high lady, of a bloodline that you would name Black Numenorean, from a city deep within the lands south of Umbar whose name your people have likely forgotten. This was a union of the West-blood of the North and the West-blood of the South, but the divide between them was not much less great than it had been since the latter days of Numenor, when King's Man reviled Elf-friend. So their union failed, and Falastur betrayed his Queen and set her out to sea. But none in your land would ever know that as the days aboard her solitary sea-journey she would grow heavy with child, Falastur's child, and bear him far in the South."
Alphros continues: "In those days the royal house to which your Queen Beruthiel was born ruled also the place from which I came. The lorekeepers of your cousins, the ship-lords of Cuthalion, might remember it, for it lies further to the south than Umbar, another haven founded by the great Kings of Numenor... Aglarrama. It was there that Beruthiel bore her son, who took to wife the princess of his vassal-keep Aglarrama. Thus was the family anAzulada founded. Thus did the heirs of Gondor linger in exile in the far South."
[Alphros(#31271)]
As Alphros speaks, a trio of cats emerge from behind the throne. The Steward scowls, but they pace around thoughtfully.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
Thingalad's words stir a response in Yildirim. His brow furrows, head tilting to the side in contemplation. It hints to look back at the scout, then pauses, and does not.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad listens to the tale intently, her eyes focused not on the room, but on the history that plays out in her mind. But as the cats enter, she is distracted, and after a mere moment, turns her head to hide her amusement, and raises a hand to her mouth to hide her mirth.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir hears the tale in silence, and perhaps his eyes would reveal his thoughts, were they not focused now on the cats behind the throne the Gondorian frowns...
"First tale.", he notes, nodding at Alphros.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Gurtir and Ceredir might suddenly feel a rubbing on their legs, as another couple of cats have wandered over from elsewhere in the tent.
Suddenly there are cats everywhere.
[<#32030>]
Thingalad looks at his fellows as if to remark about what they have heard just now. Shrugging though as the cats appear, he looks back to the king and calls out, " If you are heir of the kings of Gondor, you will know the Ancient Speech?"
Focused on the tale of Alphros and on the comments surrounding Thingalad, Ceredir at first does not notice the cats. One rubs up against him, and he nudges it away. Then another and another, and suddenly he looks up, frowning. "My lord, your pardon, but why is there a plague of cats in your quarters?"
[<#24191>] Yildirim moves from his place in front of the king, towards Su'ad. He bends towards her, whispering into her ear, "" His voice raises, '...and so my gear was lost in their camp. Who would I speak to for it?'
[Alphros(#31271)]
"The first of your proofs," frowns Alphros in answer to Ceredir. "The Curse of Beruthiel... So it was told that the Queen herself had nothing but hate for them, yet she was cursed to be followed around by them for all her life. So it is that the Curse falls to some among my family too."
The Southron Lord leans back. "So I have told my tale. So I sense the questions burning in you. Ask one, each, and I shall answer. Then I shall grant you your final proof."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad shakes his head. "Rather, I would prefer a sleep and time to ponder your words, my king. I have guarded the camp of the Gondor lords all day and have made my way here under cover. If you will allow us all a rest, we will be more fully able to comprehend your lineage."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad leans in to hear the Yildirim, and nods once, blinking. She sits back then, as his voice raises, and she looks up into his eyes and says, "Fear not, I will take care of it soon. Thank you."
Stooping briefly, Ceredir picks up one of the cats, scooping it into his arms and scratching behind its ears so that it soon purrs contentedly. "They keep the mice and rats out of the grain and food," he shrugs. "And I...will concede to whatever my kinsmen wish."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Yet before", Gurtir speaks on the wake of Thingalad's words, "Know that I wish to know of your plans once you are King of Gondor not sheer ambition moves me, not sheer blood right convinces me. I believe in deeds, or the promise of them."
[<#20109>] At Thingalad's reply, Su'ad smiles and nods, and then leans in to speak to Alphros with lowly tones in her own tongue. ""
[Yildirim(#24191)]
"My thanks," Yildirim says with a nod, turning back to the exchange between the two cultures. He clears his throat, "Lord-Steward, I would not interrupt but it has been some days since I have washed. I am not fit for your or any Umbarean's presence. If I may take my leave?"
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros looks at Thingalad. "The tongues of the Elves I will not speak aloud, but I was taught some of them by my mother. She was of your people, of one of the western Houses, and taught me much."
"But you may rest I will grant you a tent with food and water, and guards. You have heard my tale tomorrow, then, I shall tell you of what else you wish to know."
Alphros looks to Yildirim and nods. "Go and rest also, Corsair... We shall speak again upon the morrow."
[<#31271>] Alphros nods in answer to Su'ad. ""
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord Alphros."
Gurtir bows yet again at the man, though he does not take his leave, waiting still for who will show them the way.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad nods in a subtle fashion.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros rises to his feet, glancing briefly at Su'ad before stepping forward towards the Gondorians... and nudging a cat out of the way as he does.
"A final thing for you to think on in your rest," the would-be King says, and then he lifts his hand up and -- for a brief moment -- pulls his golden veil aside.
What is seen is the visage of not one bloodlines, but two, divorced since the Downfall of Numenor yet here reunited in a man. There is the likeness of the Black Numenoreans of Umbar, yes -- the highborn of the South -- but it is changed by a blood of northern origin, also... a changing of the features in the manner of the highborn of Gondor. Features fairer than any commonborn Umbarean, though still more tan of skin than any Gondorian, are goverened by grey eyes whose depths are as a great storm frozen to perfect stillness. The potence of Westernesse broods within them.
Then Alphros releases the veil. "Rest well, Men of Gondor," he says simply.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad bows in a perfunctory fashion. "Good eve to you, my king."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad pulls out a smile for Yildirim that is sad and brief, before he takes his leave. Then she turns to the others, watching them, watching Alphros. As he lifts his veil, she looks away for a moment unhappily, but then looks back at him to study his features in profile, as if mesmerized. Once the veil drops, she glances at the men of the north, trying to gauge their thoughts by their faces.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir stares longly at the face of the would-be King, his gaze seeking the man's... in silence, he contemplates in awe. And in strength too, trying to unravel what truth may lie behind the man's words... as the veil falls down, he intakes breath.
"Who shall guide us, Lord Alphros? I fear I do not know the ways of your camp."
[Alphros(#31271)]
"Su'ad," Alphros turns to the Corsair woman, gesturing to Gurtir and his companions. "I trust you to show these men to an appropriate resting place."
[<#20109>] Su'ad shifts in her seat, then inclines her head to Alphros. 'My Lord, I will,' she says, then adds, "" She stands and looks at him, her tone heavy and low. "" Then she turns back to Gurtir and offers her most winning smile. 'If you would follow me.'
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Nodding his head once at Su'ad, Gurtir and his countrymen follow Su'ad in silence.
RL DATE: Sunday Feb 1 2009
[Gurtir(#30678)]
The sky above says not whether it's day or night perhaps because none can tell: twilight is neither. A tense, heavy atmosphere pervades the Gondorian camp on account of its leader death.
Amidst the tents of the Company of Ithilien, an unsuspecting one, though previously constantly guarded, is now simply the place of gathering for a trio of men.
Death looms over them hope too.
One is Gurtir. He wears his tabard, a faint glint of silver under the torch-light reveals, yet a pitch-black cloak with hood is fastened over his shoulders, ready to conceal his entire form should need arise.
"I shall speak to him."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad stands nearby, ready as if for an errand he has long considered and is ready to pursue to whatever end it takes him. He looks at the captain and waits patiently for events to unfold.
Here, too, is Ceredir, arms crossed over his chest as he waits silently. One foot taps out an unorganized rhythm in the dirt, but done so softly it can scarce be heard. He nods to Gurtir.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir lifts the flap of the tent and enters it.
Ceredir follows, gesturing for Thingalad to do likewise.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy lays tied still as he was when last his visitors came. He head is bowed, but he clean, signs of fresh bandages underneath the vest he wears. He does not stir as the trio enter.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad follows.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Awaken, boy."
Gurtir tells Yildirim.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad cradles his two-handed hammer in the crook of his arm as he watches the boy grimly.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
There is a grunt followed by a slow groan as the Umbarean's head slowly lifts. As it comes into view, it is clear that his wounds here have too been treated recently. His head flops weakly back, landing against the pole as his blinded face looks idly up.
"One does not sleep in such situations," his voice rasps.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"I need your help."
Gurtir replies at the boy, gesturing for Ceredir to remove the blindfold and waits before going on.
"Long have I pondered on your Lord's claim, and the sight of his eyes as he spoke does not leave my mind his words struck me, for I dream of a new Gondor..."
"Will you take me and these men of my house to see him? Will you help us speak with, claimant Lord of Ithilien to claimant King of Gondor?"
Behind Yildirim, Ceredir kneels and unties the blindfold, tucking it into his belt. There's a bucket of water here, and he scoops some into a ladle and brings that, dripping, over to the boy.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
As the fold is removed and the Captain finishes his words, the boy works his jaw, but no words come, he expression an obvious lack of any words to say.
"I wish to say you are a liar and a fool to try and trick me with such words, but," he looks to the three men, blinking away the darkness and hallucinations hidden behind the fold. He sips from the water willingly as it is offered, "I... I do not have words. I think there is a great joy in my heart that even three in thousands would listen."
He pauses, his features hardened, brow furrowed, "Unless this is but more cruelty."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"It is not."
"I dream, boy, of Gondor of principles, no longer solely focused on war a Gondor of lore, a Gondor of justice.", Gurtir speaks, staring straight into Yildirim's eyes, his Dunadan blood flaming within his smoke gray eyes, and no lie therein. Ere continuing, he averts his gaze to Ceredir.
"Unbind him so he can see we mean it have you brought a blade for him as I requested?"
And still watching the scout's movements, he speaks on.
"Help us. Help me."
The ropes--first the boy's hands, then his legs--are cut. And then Ceredir takes out a small dagger and offers it, hilt first, to the boy. "Food I have, as well. You will need your strength. Bread and cheese."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
"What you ask may be too much."
Yet even as he speaks, his eyes no longer watch the Dunadan but instead the scout. He stretches his fingers as they are freed, massaging them back to life. As the dagger is offered, he takes it slowly, his fingers testing its edge. He looks to Ceredir then to the others, for a moment malice burns in his eyes and then it fades and he tucks the blade away in his vest.
"I have told no lies, I am but a boy, untested in politics and war. I can speak on your behalf. I can fight and die to allow you your request, but I cannot grant it." He refuses the bread, taking only the cheese.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad listens to this impassively. "Kings of Men are kind of merciful as well as just."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"I ask nothing else from you... Yildirim?"
He offers a nod at both Thingalad and Ceredir... his eyes lock anew on the young Corsair.
"Whenever you are ready."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy glances to his ankles, still bound, then smiles at the captain. Taking the dagger, he frees himself from his last restraint. It takes several minutes for the boy to regain the use of his legs and then he stands, a fair share shorter than the three men.
He stretches once more, arms and legs, and then nods to the Captain, "For the first time and the last, I am yours to command."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Have you his cloak, Thingalad?"
Gurtir nods at the young haradrim before glancing at his kinsman.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad offers a cloak. It is not the cloak. "This will conceal him when we pass by the guards."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The cloak is taking and donned, the boy appear more street urchin than soldier in the tent's low light.
******************
On the way across the river:
Yildirim whispers as they make their way across the Poros, "Your friends will have my debt to them paid with my actions across the River. You," he pauses, "For you you have bought the life of one Gondorian. Should I find myself on the field of battle and have the chance to kill, I will forgo and allow them refuge. Too, my blade shall not taste your blood, unless you threaten my family or my superiors. That you have bought with your deeds this night."
Ceredir, in return, offers the barest of nods. And when he has the chance, his whispered reply is emotionless. "My breaking of our parley has already been paid for with the blood of one of Gondor."
With a shake of his head, Yildirim rebuts, "That and this cannot be combined. What done is done. What is is. My debt remains for me. This is how I will pay it. No more will we speak on this." He turns away and focuses on wading through the currents.
*****************************************
On the South side of the Poros, in the Farside Camp:
Main Tent
In the evening hours it is cool in the pavilion but not so cold as outside. Warm cooking fires smolder down the center of the huge tent but in the darkness you can discern little detail. Many woven blankets hang to partition off the space into cubicals and upon the floor over rush mats are laid the many sleeping pallats of furs and roughly woven cloth. Bodies sprawl all over, dozens sleeping and living here. Smells of foods, smoke, unwashed bodies and animals pervade the air but it is homey. Although it is night, several pairs of watchful eyes look up in the fire light to inspect whomever comes in. Hushed voices of the elders can be heard at any time.
(For more information about these tribes, type: Narakshi )
[Alphros(#31271)]
The Narakshi tribesmen have erected a great pavilion in their fashion, much like the one that would have stood here ere Prince Elphir of Gondor and his Swan-knights came hither with fire and sword, driving the ferocious Haradrim south.
Its interior is vast, though whereas it might normally be filled with gaiety and the music of the Southron desert folk, today it is quieter. Some Corsairs lounge here, some Crusaders stand at guard there, and a few Naraksi are gathered about the smoldering coals of a firepit, throwing powder into it and mumbling away in their tongue.
At the far end of the pavilion, in a wide long chair wrought of ebon-like wood, sits the self-proclaimed Claimant to the Throne of Gondor and would-be Lord of Umbar, Alphros anAzulada. He lounges in his chair, veiled face turned to one side, and in his hands sits a lyre. He strums at it with knowing hands the elegaic figurations of an old tune whisper away into the air.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The tent flap is opened and in walk the strange party, announced well ahead of their coming. At their lead, the young boy sworn into Farside but a week ago, Yildirim. Pale and thin, his face swollen and stained with bruises of purples and blues, he manages his voice with strength nonetheless.
"Lord-Steward, three have come to speak with you. They have looked beyond the arrogance of their heritage and would give your words a fair ear, if you would have them in your presence."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Stripped of weapons, Thingalad enters the tent and looks around at the splendor of the place. He nods slightly, comparing it with the spartan accommodations of the Gondor camp and he smiles with approval. Looking then to the king, he steps forward and kneels behind the boy.
The youngest of the three men of Gondor is but 4 or 5 years older than Yildirim. Though his arms have been surrendered to the Haradrim, Ceredir still wears his leather armor and the garb of Ithilien, his cloak thrown back over his shoudlers. He is hesitant--looking about in wonder, and then, with a quick glance to Thingalad, he copies that man's movements and takes a knee.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad sits at Alprhos' side, listening to the music he plays, perhaps, but it may only be assumed by the positioning of her body, for her eyes are on the room, smoldering dark orbs glancing at each man, watching the movement of each hand. She leans in to whisper something to Alphros, then returns to her former position.
[<#20109>] Su'ad +whispers to Alphros, "... know, ... father ... seemed ... ... ... to be ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......... ... ... of ...."
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros straightens a little in his chair as the young Corsair and the three Gondorians approach, and the music fades away as his fingers abandon their play upon the lyre-strings. He regards the northerners thoughtfully for a long silent, and then looks at Yildirim: "You are returned to us, Corsair, alive. My sister will be pleased..."
Then to the others: "You will be thanked, if for nothing but that. Azradi is fond of him." Then he leans forward, intently, "Rise, and name yourselves, Men of Gondor, so I might know who comes with open ears yet such guarded hearts to speak to me."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Rising, the first one calls out, "I am Thingalad of the Carmayar! Ready to serve you, my king and show you the secret paths of my home we call the Garden." Thingalad salutes in the manner of the Company of Ithilien.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros then leans back in response to the whisper. "Your father had a wisdom of his own then that I would not have expected, even if you find true honour here among us." Then he glances at Thingalad, and awaits the others.
"I am called Ceredir, lord," the youngest of the three says as he, too, stands now. "This soldier of your realm," he gestures to Yildirim, "his words spoke to me."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
The third man, tall and noble of blood by his visage and bright stare, likewise offers Alphros a bow.
"I am Gurtir of the Carmayar, claimant Lord of my kin I long for a new Gondor and therefore I here come to hear further of your own claim and plans."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad leans in to hear Alphros' response, and smiles thinly, but then sits back and discusses it no longer. When each man introduces himself, she smiles at him and inclines her head in acknowledgement. When they are finished, she shifts position in her chair seemingly effortlessly, despite recent injuries. "The three, wise men of Gondor. It is a delight to meet ones such as you," she says in Westron with dulcet tones, less like a corsair and more like a lady. But deep in her eyes, there is an occasional flash of anger. She puts that away, though, and looks at the Umbarean man. "And Yildirim, I am also glad to see you safe."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad nods again. "I seek lands and titles to prove to a great lord that I am worthy of his daughter's hand."
[Yildirim(#24191)]
The boy manages a smile as Su'ad's words, wincing as it comes. But Yildirim says naught, waiting instead for his Steward to speak.
[Alphros(#31271)]
"Yes indeed," Alphros echoes the Corsair Su'ad by his side, "The Three Wise Men of Gondor come. But what broods in the hearts and minds beneath mail and the legacy of stone?"
The lordling in the chair places aside the lyre and leans forward, resting his arms upon his knees as he regards the Gondorians keenly from behind his golden veil. "Two of Carmayar... bloodline of the Black Sword, no, which once ruled both South and East in days of yore? And one," he glances at Ceredir, "Of blood unknown to me, and to you it would seem." Alphros glances at Yildirim: "Whatever transpires here, Corsair Yildirim, you will be rewarded for your deeds, and know that the dishonour done to you has already been redeemed."
Then the would-be King speaks again to the Gondorians. "You come here seeking more, I know. Assurances. Proof, no doubt. Know that this I will offer you: first a tale, or two, to grant you your assurances. Then you may ask me questions of your own. Then I shall grant you the proof that you desire."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad shakes his head vehemently. "I seek not proof, but rather the striking of bargains. My ancient house once ruled these lands. Gondor is weak and I will follow any warlord who can offer me what my station at home cannot. Is that you, my king?"
Ceredir's eyes close briefly at the words of the Lord Steward, and then he nods his head slowly. But he does not offer any explanations.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir nods as Alphros speaks.
"So be it."
Then, at Thingalad's words, he holds his peace, though his eyes lift to better evaluate his countryman and the would-be King.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad's eyes narrow, and she cants her head to the side slightly. "Oh surely, some history or explanation is required? Some proof?" she says suspiciously.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros looks upon Thingalad, and one might sense the raising of an eyebrow behind a veil. "Black Sword to the last... Kingship is a matter of right, Thingalad of Carmayar, not petty warlordship. I shall address my right and then we may address yours, for it seems your countrymen would hear the tale."
Then the would-be King of Gondor tells his tale: "Two thousand years and more ago, Tarannon Falastur -- first of the Ship-kings -- took as his queen a high lady, of a bloodline that you would name Black Numenorean, from a city deep within the lands south of Umbar whose name your people have likely forgotten. This was a union of the West-blood of the North and the West-blood of the South, but the divide between them was not much less great than it had been since the latter days of Numenor, when King's Man reviled Elf-friend. So their union failed, and Falastur betrayed his Queen and set her out to sea. But none in your land would ever know that as the days aboard her solitary sea-journey she would grow heavy with child, Falastur's child, and bear him far in the South."
Alphros continues: "In those days the royal house to which your Queen Beruthiel was born ruled also the place from which I came. The lorekeepers of your cousins, the ship-lords of Cuthalion, might remember it, for it lies further to the south than Umbar, another haven founded by the great Kings of Numenor... Aglarrama. It was there that Beruthiel bore her son, who took to wife the princess of his vassal-keep Aglarrama. Thus was the family anAzulada founded. Thus did the heirs of Gondor linger in exile in the far South."
[Alphros(#31271)]
As Alphros speaks, a trio of cats emerge from behind the throne. The Steward scowls, but they pace around thoughtfully.
[Yildirim(#24191)]
Thingalad's words stir a response in Yildirim. His brow furrows, head tilting to the side in contemplation. It hints to look back at the scout, then pauses, and does not.
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad listens to the tale intently, her eyes focused not on the room, but on the history that plays out in her mind. But as the cats enter, she is distracted, and after a mere moment, turns her head to hide her amusement, and raises a hand to her mouth to hide her mirth.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir hears the tale in silence, and perhaps his eyes would reveal his thoughts, were they not focused now on the cats behind the throne the Gondorian frowns...
"First tale.", he notes, nodding at Alphros.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Gurtir and Ceredir might suddenly feel a rubbing on their legs, as another couple of cats have wandered over from elsewhere in the tent.
Suddenly there are cats everywhere.
[<#32030>]
Thingalad looks at his fellows as if to remark about what they have heard just now. Shrugging though as the cats appear, he looks back to the king and calls out, "
Focused on the tale of Alphros and on the comments surrounding Thingalad, Ceredir at first does not notice the cats. One rubs up against him, and he nudges it away. Then another and another, and suddenly he looks up, frowning. "My lord, your pardon, but why is there a plague of cats in your quarters?"
[<#24191>] Yildirim moves from his place in front of the king, towards Su'ad. He bends towards her, whispering into her ear, "
[Alphros(#31271)]
"The first of your proofs," frowns Alphros in answer to Ceredir. "The Curse of Beruthiel... So it was told that the Queen herself had nothing but hate for them, yet she was cursed to be followed around by them for all her life. So it is that the Curse falls to some among my family too."
The Southron Lord leans back. "So I have told my tale. So I sense the questions burning in you. Ask one, each, and I shall answer. Then I shall grant you your final proof."
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad shakes his head. "Rather, I would prefer a sleep and time to ponder your words, my king. I have guarded the camp of the Gondor lords all day and have made my way here under cover. If you will allow us all a rest, we will be more fully able to comprehend your lineage."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad leans in to hear the Yildirim, and nods once, blinking. She sits back then, as his voice raises, and she looks up into his eyes and says, "Fear not, I will take care of it soon. Thank you."
Stooping briefly, Ceredir picks up one of the cats, scooping it into his arms and scratching behind its ears so that it soon purrs contentedly. "They keep the mice and rats out of the grain and food," he shrugs. "And I...will concede to whatever my kinsmen wish."
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"Yet before", Gurtir speaks on the wake of Thingalad's words, "Know that I wish to know of your plans once you are King of Gondor not sheer ambition moves me, not sheer blood right convinces me. I believe in deeds, or the promise of them."
[<#20109>] At Thingalad's reply, Su'ad smiles and nods, and then leans in to speak to Alphros with lowly tones in her own tongue. "
[Yildirim(#24191)]
"My thanks," Yildirim says with a nod, turning back to the exchange between the two cultures. He clears his throat, "Lord-Steward, I would not interrupt but it has been some days since I have washed. I am not fit for your or any Umbarean's presence. If I may take my leave?"
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros looks at Thingalad. "The tongues of the Elves I will not speak aloud, but I was taught some of them by my mother. She was of your people, of one of the western Houses, and taught me much."
"But you may rest I will grant you a tent with food and water, and guards. You have heard my tale tomorrow, then, I shall tell you of what else you wish to know."
Alphros looks to Yildirim and nods. "Go and rest also, Corsair... We shall speak again upon the morrow."
[<#31271>] Alphros nods in answer to Su'ad. "
[Gurtir(#30678)]
"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord Alphros."
Gurtir bows yet again at the man, though he does not take his leave, waiting still for who will show them the way.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad nods in a subtle fashion.
[Alphros(#31271)]
Alphros rises to his feet, glancing briefly at Su'ad before stepping forward towards the Gondorians... and nudging a cat out of the way as he does.
"A final thing for you to think on in your rest," the would-be King says, and then he lifts his hand up and -- for a brief moment -- pulls his golden veil aside.
What is seen is the visage of not one bloodlines, but two, divorced since the Downfall of Numenor yet here reunited in a man. There is the likeness of the Black Numenoreans of Umbar, yes -- the highborn of the South -- but it is changed by a blood of northern origin, also... a changing of the features in the manner of the highborn of Gondor. Features fairer than any commonborn Umbarean, though still more tan of skin than any Gondorian, are goverened by grey eyes whose depths are as a great storm frozen to perfect stillness. The potence of Westernesse broods within them.
Then Alphros releases the veil. "Rest well, Men of Gondor," he says simply.
[Thingalad(#32030)]
Thingalad bows in a perfunctory fashion. "Good eve to you, my king."
[Su'ad(#20109)]
Su'ad pulls out a smile for Yildirim that is sad and brief, before he takes his leave. Then she turns to the others, watching them, watching Alphros. As he lifts his veil, she looks away for a moment unhappily, but then looks back at him to study his features in profile, as if mesmerized. Once the veil drops, she glances at the men of the north, trying to gauge their thoughts by their faces.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Gurtir stares longly at the face of the would-be King, his gaze seeking the man's... in silence, he contemplates in awe. And in strength too, trying to unravel what truth may lie behind the man's words... as the veil falls down, he intakes breath.
"Who shall guide us, Lord Alphros? I fear I do not know the ways of your camp."
[Alphros(#31271)]
"Su'ad," Alphros turns to the Corsair woman, gesturing to Gurtir and his companions. "I trust you to show these men to an appropriate resting place."
[<#20109>] Su'ad shifts in her seat, then inclines her head to Alphros. 'My Lord, I will,' she says, then adds, "
[Gurtir(#30678)]
Nodding his head once at Su'ad, Gurtir and his countrymen follow Su'ad in silence.
Players: Gurtir,Thingalad,Ceredir,Yildirim,Alphros,Su'ad
