(Archive) - The Princess is still Sick

The Grand Hall is nearly deserted at this hour, for it is the dinner-hour in Dol Amroth. Throughout the mighty Marble Citadel, men and women look to the West before their meals -- but not here, beneath the vast dome.

Only two men are visible in all this expanse of marble and light, and they are set at the foot of the grand stair. One stands, wearily, clad all in white -- Thorondur, White Knight, Lord Girithlin -- and the second, Sir Calladan, is pleading with him.

Ivriniel emerges from the eastern archway.

Ivriniel has arrived.

The Grand Hall is nearly deserted at this hour, for it is the dinner-hour in Dol Amroth. Throughout the mighty Marble Citadel, men and women look to the West before their meals -- but not here, beneath the vast dome.

Only two men are visible in all this expanse of marble and light, and they are set at the foot of the grand stair. One stands, wearily, clad all in white -- Thorondur, White Knight, Lord Girithlin -- and the second, Sir Calladan, is pleading with him.

\"Thorondur, I understand, but this is ridiculous,\" the younger knight insists.

Drenlyn strides in, hoping to find some place of refuge from the unknown masses of people rushing to eat. Upon entering the Grand Hall, he spots the Herald and his young counterpart. Weary of confrontation, Drenlyn inches forward hoping not to be noticed for the moment.

\"I know what you think, Cal,\" speaks the Herald, gravely, one foot on the lowest stair. \"But I haven\'t a choice. I swore I wouldn\'t fail her.\"

And the younger knight, Calladan, grits his teeth in frustration, hands on his hips. \"But the Prince said-\"

\"The Prince didn\'t forbid me keeping a vigil just outside,\" Thorondur snaps, frustration rising uninvited to the surface.

Not knowing what else to do, Drenlyn moves toward the Herald, and in his clumsiness stumbles, and lands flat on his belly. Standing up briskly he brushes himself off, and bows low to the Herald and his companion saying \"My Lord.\"

Frustrated himself, Calladan glances left and right in an effort to find someone -- anyone, it seems -- to aid him in deterring his friend from this course of action. His grey eyes, filled with stress, seem to relax as they come to rest on Drenlyn. \"Up, lad. Help me convince the Lord Girithlin he\'s not to go defying his liege-lord,\" the knight says with a pained smirk.

Thorondur turns on Calladan and Drenlyn with a look that conveys a singular impression: they both must be mad. \"Look at me, Cal,\" he says, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone. \"I\'m unarmed. I\'ve no intention of defying him... yet. If she worsens, though...\" His voice trails off, and in reply Calladan\'s face falls.

Drenlyn nods to this young knight. Turning to Thorondur Drenlyn urges, \"Though I am yet a squire sir, I have learned only that one must obey his liege over all else, even if that means letting one in need of help be assisted by others. Though I don\'t know your mind I can but speak mine.\"

\"You speak well, lad,\" Thorondur tells Drenlyn gravely, without impatience, \"But Sir Calladan is wrong to enlist you in this.\" As his young aide grinds his teeth, the Herald explains, \"I will not willingly be forsworn before my oaths to Imrahil, you have the right of it.\"

\"But I have sworn another, and that I treasure even deeper.\"

\"Then it is obvious my lord. Though it is out of my place to serve as sage, the only answer is to find which oath holds a greater value in your heart the one given to your liege, or that given to Lothiriel, for is that not the other of whom you speak of so tenderly?\" Drenlyn, now cautious of his place, tries to provide as much comfort to this Heralds seemingly torn heart as he can.

\"Wise beyond your years,\" Thorondur says quickly to the squire, abruptly turning to start up the staircase. Only Calladan\'s last desperate lunge for his shoulder holds the Herald back -- him brushing his friend\'s hand aside with a sigh.

A white satin gown, now rumpled and soiled is seen just before the weary face of Lady Ivriniel appears at the top of the carpeted stairway. Slowly, the sister of Imrahil makes her way to the bottom of the long staircase. Pausing briefly, she draws in a long breath as she notices several in the Grand Hall of the Stars at this night of evening. Patting her hands over raven hair that is loosened from its normal elegant chignon, a tired laugh, bordering on giddiness, slips from her lips as her head shakes in denial. Anyone close to the woman could hear her say to herself, \"There is no fixing this mess\"

Close upon the heels of the Master healer are her assistants and Ladies in Waiting. Closing around the sister of Imrahil and immediately launching into a full-scale attack of chatter as the group moves through the vast room. Nodding her head in rapt attention to her assistant healer she says, \"I want a fresh supply of black haw, balsamon, kalminthe and yarrow.\" Weariness evident in clouded grey eyes as she looks to the healer and adds, \"And please bring meadowsweet as well. Go to the garden and pluck several fresh leaves and then meet me back in the royal chambers\" Noticing for the first time the Knight Herald and White squire in the room she says to the group surrounding her, \"Excuse me for just a moment.\"

\"My Lord please calm yourself. If indeed you feel the oath you hold to the lady Lothiriel is stronger than your ties to your liege then....\" Drenlyn\'s voice dies as he sees the Master-Healer descending the stairs. \"My Lord I only ask that you examine the consequences of your actions,\" pleads Drenlyn.

The Herald and those around him are poised at the foot of the Grand Staircase, Thorondur himself prepared to ascend, and two younger men -- Squire Drenlyn, and Sir Calladan -- pleading with him to remain.

\"For the last time,\" the Lord Girithlin explains, calmly indeed, \"I am merely taking up a vigil. It is not a thing either of you need worry yourselves over.\"

Calladan cracks his knuckles, looking crestfallen -- knowing better than any present, perhaps, his friend\'s will. \"Forgive me, Drenlyn, if that is your name,\" he says to the Squire. \"He will not be gainsaid. And perhaps it will be as he says-\" and now he looks to Thorondur once more, \"--but I pray you, my lord, do nothing rash.\"

Drenlyn, taken aback at the realization of his involvement, sees that stopping this troubled Herald will take much more than a mere White Squire. Looking to Ivriniel, Drenlyn shoot a pleading look, hoping that she, in some way, can help Sir Calladan\'s, and his cause.

Solemn as the Argonath, Thorondur hir Girithlin looks down upon first Drenlyn, and then Calladan. The weight of his gaze falls heavily upon his aide, until at last he says quietly, \"I can promise you nothing, my friend.\" And in his voice there is no small portion of sorrow.

And with that, Thorondur turns and continues his climb.

The sun sinks in the sky and falls below the horizon. Nighttime takes over.

Drenlyn, refusing to give up on this knight, realizes that the Herald may indeed want to merely stand vigil under Lothiriel\'s door. Not wanting to leave the Herald, Drenlyn quietly follows the Herald as he continues to climb the stairs. \"If it does not displease you my lord,\" sooths Drenlyn, \"then I will join you in your vigil, for I am myself a servant of Ivriniel for the moment, and I too feel that it is my duty as a Healer\'s servant to watch over the Princess.\"

Pausing upon the first landing, Thorondur allows the squire to catch him up below, Calladan gives the pair one last, helpless look, before turning on a heel and stalking toward the hall\'s far arch.

\"I fear I will have a bridge to mend, there,\" Thorondur sighs, quietly, \"but there\'s nothing else for it. Squire - Drenlyn\" he adds, fixing that one with a compelling eye, \"You needn\'t keep my vigil. It will -- not be easy. But I welcome your company, while you remain.\"

Drenlyn hastens to catch up with the Herald, and upon reaching him says, \"My Lord, though you may see nothing but your love and care for the Lady Lothiriel, I\'m afraid that those who love you, worry for the grief that you may eventually cause yourself. Though I pretend not to know the circumstances that drive you to your vigil, I only know that in dire times as these, friends are made and lost, but once all is done everything will be as it should.\"

Rounding on the squire, now the Herald seems suddenly revealed as more high and noble, and at the same lordly and dangerous his blue eyes blaze with some hidden inner fire.

\"Do not presume to judge me, my young friend,\" Thorondur warns quietly, an old sorrow re-awakened and visible in his eyes. \"I know full well what my actions may bring upon me. And thus I warn you again: You need not join me in this vigil, for I fear this cannot be the end of it.\"

\"Very well my Lord,\" Drenlyn eases, \"I will not address your current travail anymore. I have told you my mind, and may it affect you as it will. I only feel that I share with you a slight, but common duty, and that is to assure the health of the Lady Lothiriel.\"

Drenlyn, though taken aback by the Herald\'s harsh warning, remains dutifully straight, and will not abandon the commitment that he has already made to stand vigil with this Knight-Herald.

There passes a long moment of utter stillness. Crystalline, blue as the sea, Thorondur\'s eyes hold Drenlyn\'s for that entire silent length, as if reading the youth, taking his measure.

It is almost... unsettling, the weight of that gaze.

And finally, finally he inclines his head. \"You mean well, Squire. I discern your intentions,\" the Herald says, \"and they are noble as you say. This is why I will not hold you to your promise -- for a time will come when you can no longer keep it, if her health does not improve.\"

Drenlyn sighs, \"My Lord, I will hold any promise that I keep until I die, or a calling higher than that promise beacons me. If you so command it sire I will leave you to your vigil, for your word is greater than any promise I now keep. But if you do not dismiss me hence, let you know that I will keep my vigil as was my promise.\"

Drenlyn, holding the Herald\'s iron gaze, drops his head in subservience to this Lord, and awaits the Herald\'s command.

\"Then if the time comes,\" says Thorondur, and in his voice there is the hinted-at note of danger, and concern for the lad, \"and I order you to go -- you will go.\" And it is no question.

\"If that time does come,\" says Drenlyn, noticing the hint of risk on the Herald\'s voice, \"Then I will go as you command, unless the Prince himself shall stop me.\"

The blistering winter\'s winter gust with an almost childlike merriment through the streets, along the corridors made by the houses of the city, through the darkened night to sound it\'s cry along the walls of the great citadel of Imrazor, the family who has long held sway within the city of Dol Amroth.

In the distance there can be heard the sounds of crashing waves, the cry of gulls echoing eerily from the darkness, and from within the walls of the castle themselves there comes a dim hint of music from the upper levels.

Though the night is yet early, the halls are lain bare by the chill of the season, though who must go out are the ones to be found in these places while the rest remain within the rooms of choice, be it personal or pub, near the hearth and the heat given there. One such who glides softly through the halls of the palace of Imrahil is a tall figure, his midnight cloak billowing behind him as he moves, the sounds of his steps softened by the thick carpet along the floor. He is alone this one, but this is not strange, not for him, for once more into the halls comes Lord Melethron Bragollach.

The Hall is nearly deserted at this hour, save for two men high upon the grand stair, even now beginning their ascent once more toward the second gallery.

Drenlyn, hearing a stir below him turns his head and spies this new figure. Unsure of what to make of him, Drenlyn turns to his Herald and says, \"My lord, it appears that we are not the only ones this night who have a task.\"

\"Then let the others see to their duties,\" Thorondur replies, turning once more to continue the long climb. \"I have mine, and no Man, be he high or less, shall keep me from it.\"

The tall figure comes to the base of the stairs, yet without missing a beat or a step, the booted feet of the man flow onto the lowest stair, cloak following him as if yet another shadow.

His step is quick, this one, fast and light, skimming from stair to stair, gaining upon the two men, though he seems not to notice them as of yet. Yet know, with each passing step he grows closer to the figure, the click of his steps louder.

Drenlyn too, turns and follows the Herald, as both climb higher.

Caring little for who follows him, or why, the Herald takes the stairs two, sometimes three at a time.

Thorondur ascends the stairs to the first gallery.

You ascend the long stairway. It hugs the circular walls of the Grand Hall.

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Third Floor Gallery

Wide and carpeted in midnight blue, the highest of the galleries leaves most guests thankful for its wrought-iron railing: To fall from this height would surely kill a man. The floor below is distant, distant... details are difficult to discern, and figures seem no larger than insects.

The dome of the rotunda, above and beyond the gallery itself, is dark with the night the evening sky is visible above. The effervescent shimmering of the crystal stars is strongest here, though, and there is no need for torches or extraneous light of any kind at this level.

Contents:

Melethron has arrived.

Only upon attaining the highest gallery does Thorondur pause, and even then not for breath. Unencumbered by mail or sword, the White Knight seems yet hale and fit, despite the long climb. Only now does he walk, silent and with grim purpose, to stand across from the curtained archway to the royal apartments.

Lagging behind the fit Herald, Drenlyn, reaches the Third Floor, and stands to the side, regaining his breath.