(Archive) The Battlements
From the archives of the Gondorian
Thorondur, Arnafel, Gweneth, Drenlyn
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Weather: Clear
Time: Late Morning
Season: Winter
Date: Mersday - February 30, 3021
Real Time: Sat Aug 26 23:15:04 2000
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*Note - log supplied by Drenlyn*
Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - North Battlements
Stone and sky grapple with one another here, each winning by turns. A brace of massive towers frames this battlement: eastward the Knights\' Tower--misnamed, it seems, for it is more a small castle in its own right--and to the west the looming Tower of Imrazor, a tower in sooth. Looking over the chest-high battlements in either direction, though, the sky is the victor to the north, far below, lies the Bay of Edhellond surrounded by the town of Dol Amroth. Southward opens the Upper Courtyard, not so far below, and the distant Belegaer beyond it.
The Bay of Edhellond glimmers a dark blue in the daylight, dotted with sails and hulls, wakes trailing white foam behind. The city crawls with the tiny forms of its citizens, ant-like from this vantage, with faint puffs of smoke rising to dissipate in the clear southern air. The courtyard is likewise a site of busy activity, with men and women in fine livery or martial gear marching to and fro on business, while this battlement seems a spot of relative calm with its sentries alone. Though these men are sometimes joined by an errant seagull--most are not bold enough to perch here, but those that do are rarely shunned--offtimes their only companions are the stone and the sky.
The Sun is still quite high in the sky and the plains and waters lay sparkling under a clear Winter sky.
Contents:
Thorondur
Gweneth
Obvious exits:
Knights\' Tower
From the Knights\' Tower, the eastern terminus of the battlement walk, comes a sudden flash of light -- for lo, the doors of the Barad Requain are flung back, and off the thread-of-gold and white silks of the Lord Girithlin, what sunlight there is this morning is caught and reflected, refracted, doubled or tripled in brilliance.
And yet his expression is troubled, this Thorondur Girithlin\'s, and he has yet the look of sleepless nights. What brooding angel comes with such shadowed eyes?
Pale and wan before the golden light of morning -- as a candle before Arien -- a light burns steadily at the pinnacle of the Tower of Imrazor. The Prince may have disappeared, but there is another who has kept vigil in that lonely eerie this day.
And he comes forth upon the battlements even now, through the arched tower doors -- sable cloak streaming in the wind, the argent markings bright upon his raiment -- the Knight-Admiral.
An odd meeting, this -- three upon the battlements, knights white and silver and a lady of the leaping flame -- yet spying the Isilrim across the walk, the Lord Girithlin slows his pace. Though upon his countenance there is naught but expressionless distance, he pauses by the Lady Gweneth.
Behind her right shoulder, the weary Herald wonders, \"And what do you here, Lady? For I mark this place the walk of ghosts, this day, and none of us ought be glad for it.\"
Lady Gweneth looks first to her left, then to her right. A tired smile on her lips as the men move towards one another like some odd duel. She glances behind her briefly only take note of Thorondur before looking back to the bay, \"I am not really here, only lost in my thoughts, Thorondur. Besides, if ghosts be here, I shall send you off to defend me from them.\"
Grasping the waning light of morning, Drenlyn strides out onto the battlements with eyes cast down. Looking up, Drenlyn catches sight of the two Lords, and a lady, who Drenlyn can only assume is of high stature. Bowing low, Drenlyn greets all three with \"Good-day my Lords, and good-day to you my Lady.\"
\"It takes a ghost to fight a ghost, I\'ve heard,\" the Herald replies, a faint grin twisting the exquisite features of his pale, pale face. Sighing, he joins the Lady Bragollach against the crenellated battlement wall.
\"She is no better,\" Thorondur confides, quietly, \"Though she fights it bravely. And what of your troubles? For I mark you less than perfect, my lady?\" Of Drenlyn he takes some notice, and to that one is given a faded smile -- yet the Herald seems ever so tired.
\"Less than perfect?\" Gweneth questions, her smile turning coy, \"I think you try my good nature.\" She then looks behind her to Drenlyn, nodding her head to him, \"Good day to you, young man. Have you too, come to look over our fair city to give your heart and mind some rest?\"
For a moment so fleeting, that it may well be a passing fancy and naught else -- the Isilrim halts. But there is no hesitation upon his visage -- indeed, little can be discerned upon it -- as he comes to the Chamberlain\'s side.
\"Does she worsen then?\" And an inclined head in greeting to the Squire and these others.
Drenlyn turning to this lady of esteem replies, \"Yes my Lady. I have sought to catch a glimpse of our fair city in the bright light of morning. It seems though that there are troubles which ruin the sight for you, and for that I am sorry.\"
Gweneth smiles to Drenlyn, \"I know not of my troubles, though,\" she says turning to Thorondur, \"The Lady Imrazor is indeed, quite ill. Thorondur,\" she begins, addressing the Girithlin, \"I do not think I have heard the story of her illness. When did she fall victim to it? During the festival?\"
A fleeting smile for the Lady Gweneth finds the Herald saying but this: \"If only all your kin had such a disposition.\" And then he looks beyond her to Arnafel, the Knight-Admiral.
\"She does not worsen,\" admits Thorondur, \"Yet neither does she improve. And her father\'s disappearance does her no favours. I think -- nay, what use is that? For you are in his confidence, Lord Isilrim, and he has fled her in her need.\"
\"Again.\"
\"What news is this. Has the Prince truly disappeared? Please forgive me for my ignorance my Lord, but I have been with my father in South Belfalas, and I have not heard of such news,\" says Drenlyn, amazed with these new tidings.
Gweneth does not reply at once, Thorondur\'s remark having an unsaid bite behind it. She then tilts her head in confusion, \"Wait, you, the Knight-Herald, do not know where the Prince has gone?\" She looks to Arnafel, questioning him, \"That seems...odd. Does it not?\"
Is it the sun\'s light which leaps brightly in the Isilrim\'s eyes? So cool, so distant -- they are neither in that moment. And the others\' questions must wait for the moment.
\"And you are swift indeed to judge him, Thorondur.\"
\"Again.\"
To Gweneth and Drenlyn, to lady and squire, the Herald gives a sad and mild smile -- a regretful thing, a sign perhaps of apology. For it is to his fellow knight the young lord turns in full.
\"And judge him I must, Arnafel,\" replies Thorondur, his tone measured and grave -- and cool. \"For it would seem the Prince has little enough love to spare for his only daughter, who seeks nothing more than the approval of her father -- but nay!\" And here the blue Girithlin eyes, the sapphires flare angrily. \"He has few enough words for her, save those of disagreement -- when he has words at all. And in her hour of need, who holds her hand? Not Imrahil. So speak to me not of judgement, Lord Isilrim...
\"Until I see in our Prince the man I once thought a paragon of justice and chivalry, I will defend his daughter to my death. And yea -- against his own coolness and distance toward her, should need require it.\"
Gweneth can help but to take a step away from Thorondur, glancing at Drenlyn briefly, shock painted on her face, \"Thorondur, your words are,\" she shakes her head, \"Are surprising as it is but quite inappropriate for the audience you give them to,\" her eyes darting briefly again to Drenlyn.
Following the glance of Gweneth, Thorondur gives young Drenlyn notices -- but only grimaces, and touches a hand to his brow, distraught. \"What matter, my lady? I am her champion,\" he swears, \"and beside that all else must pale, for me. I cannot hide aught of the truth -- nay, even from this squire.\"
Giving a mild sign of reprieve Drenlyn addresses the Herald, \"My lord, you speak treasonous words, and, though I am but a squire, I know that such words of criticism do not become a Swan Knight.\"
Drenlyn returns the glance of the Herald and continues, \"Even if such words may hold true, one must love their liege-lord above all else. I have seen the care that you give the Lady Lothiriel, but to say such words is not just with no one to defend the guilty party.\"
\"Treason? Watch your tongue, boy,\" the Herald sharply says to Drenlyn, the reprimand chill and angry on his tongue. \"I will defend the Princess until my final breath, and I have sworn oaths to her father. Do you suggest,\" Thorondur wonders, rounding on the squire with more than a trace of restrained hostility, \"...that I break them? I advise you to watch your tongue, squire....\"
Gweneth raises her brow, \"What oath did you speak to the Princess?\"
\"I swore never to fail her,\" replies Thorondur, firmly, \"and I never shall.\"
\"Do you think speaking ill of her father will aid you in your cause?\" Gweneth replies in return.
\"I have heard your oaths my Lord, and I advise you, as I have before to maintain them,\" says Drenlyn, \"But I warn you against such ill words of the Prince, for it is not wise to speak ill to those that you have sworn to serve.\"
\"Do I speak ill? I speak merely what is,\" the Herald says, simply, to Gweneth and Drenlyn both. \"If her father ignores her, is the fault mine -- or his own? I am but the messenger.\"
Gweneth sighs, \'I retract my question then since you wish to play some game of particulars.\' She sighs once more, \"
\"Then give me love,\" says the Herald, quoting the selfsame ancient text the Lady Chamberlain calls upon, \"for what is wisdom but the hoary offering of old and loveless Men?\" And so too does Thorondur go, then -- in the opposite direction, toward the Tower of Imrazor, and his unending vigil.
Drenlyn remains and stares towards the city, pondering the strong words that he has just encountered. Sighing, He stands and then turns back to the Knights\' Tower, once again with eyes downcast and wearing a grim mask.