Dol Amroth: Of Statues and Stars

*Note - Log supplied by Thorondur*

August 15, 2000

Starring:

Lossaran, Ranger of Ithilien

Thorondur, Lord Girithlin, Knight-Herald

Borgilas, Old Lord Bragollach

Overhead, the stars shine brightly in the cool sky of winter. About the landing, the waves of the Bay rush and crash against the seawall, the lulling sound of the swells like to a poor-tempered lullaby. And upon the marble landing itself, illumined only by stars, a man stands alone.

His back to the great doors, and his hands held behind him, he is tall and dark of hair -- but only one man in all Dol Amroth wears the snowy white mantle that names him Thorondur, the White Knight.

The sea seems to call another on this late evening the siren\'s song of the waves draws a lone, rather slow moving, Lossaran westward. As he ambles toward the bridge, the far off lights cast a ghostly shadow on the Ranger. The chill air here is manifest in his eyes, his visage saddened by the past day\'s events. He walks alone with his thoughts.

Footsteps? Only a man long given to the sound of the Sea might catch them. Caught in the stifling of a yawn, the Herald turns -- slowly -- though no surprise is betrayed in his sapphirine eyes. Rather an expectant look, and a faint smile. \"Lossaran,\" he says quietly. \"My luck holds, it seems. I had hoped to find you.\"

Indeed the Herald\'s perception is well-honed, for the footsteps of a Ranger are hard for those to hear even when mere feet from him. Startled by the intrusion into his musings, Lossaran looks up as his name is hailed. Seeing the Lord of Girithlin he first frowns and then lets a small, friendly smile play on his lips. \"I hoped I might not be found by any,\" he says motioning to the view both the men share. \"But since I am discovered, pray sir. What do you wish to speak to me of?\" he asks, bowing his head formally.

\"Say not that I have found you,\" rejoins the Herald, smiling amiably under the stars, \"but that you have found me. And there may be some deeper reason in it.\" Tilting his head, Thorondur gives the man\'s question visible thought -- a pause -- and ever smiling. Then, a wave of his hand -- \"Come stand with me, Torelin. You cannot see her from there.\"

Lossaran keeps his eyes upon the western sea as he approaches the Knight-Herald. \"Either you have my long lost cousin in mind when you say you need speak with me or in this light I look more like him than I wish to,\" he says, finally reaching his destination. He gazes out to the darkened ocean landscape that Thorondur seems to fascinated with and smiles to himself, sighing. \"There are some wonders to behold in your home, lord. I rarely see anything this grand in the places I tend to dwell.\" There is a melancholic aspect to the man\'s words and he avoids looking anywhere but to the sea before them.

Stiffly, and with a fleeting grimace as if injured -- yet swiftly covered by that ever-present smile -- Thorondur lifts an arm, his left, to point away into the firmament. \"Wonders, indeed. Grandeur, and fair things. And though I never knew your cousin, if he was aught like you -- for I mark you a man of subtle means, and the quiet wisdom of the silent -- he might enjoy this sight.\"

And if the path of his arm is followed, past his extended finger and into the heavens, it can be seen that he points to a star -- or several such. \"Behold, Lossaran. For that is Telperiele.\" A constellation?

Following the man\'s finger as a guide he squints to see what the speaks of and after a few moments he discerns the constellation from amongst the other myriad of stars. \"Ah,\" he says smiling now outwardly, \"I did not know of its name but many a night I have spent upon my back in clearings that dot Ithilien staring at that very cluster of stars.\" His eyes grow less sad for a brief time, as he seems lost once again in his own mind\'s eye. When he finally returns to earth he looks over at his fellow star-gazer, asking, \"So now that fortune has brought me to you, what do you wish to speak to me about?\"

A figure emerges, shadow amid the gloom and fog that clings to the western reaches of Imrahil\'s citadel. It pauses--a largish figure, clad in cloak to ward off the chill of winter that is palpable even this far into the southlands. No further does the shadow advance, for the nonce, content, it seems, to merely watch.

As if he hears not the question, the Herald says quietly again the constellation\'s name. \"Telperiele.\" And smiling his liquid smile, Thorondur adds, \"The Silver Princess.\"

Now a slow step forward, the movement -- again stiff, and awkward. Where has his grace gone? The Tournament! Of course. And turning about, Thorondur sinks down, half-settling upon the low ledge of the balustrade. \"And we all might gaze so -- as you did in Ithilien, and as we two do tonight -- and marvel at her beauty.\"

And in the silent depth of his eyes, the warmth and somehow, the understanding -- it is clear that the question was heard. And also clearly -- that the Herald has answered it.

The figure amid the fog steps forward a pace as the Knight-Herald declaims his astronomical wisdom, adding, \"A White Princess, I should think, Girithlin. Though I shouldn\'t wonder if thou\'d have it another way...\"

Another step, half-hobbled this time, and the dark figure steps into moonlight that colors his red garb blood-black.

First a look of incomprehension, then a sigh, and finally a nod is given to the Knight-Herald as the Ranger gleans his meaning. He remains along the same vein however, looking back to the sky as he takes a seat upon the hard ground of the landing. \"She is something ethereal indeed,\" he says admiring the night sky. \"Something I have resigned is beyond my reach for I am here...\" He pats the stone beside him, \"and she is so very far from me.\" It is obvious that Lossaran has heard the third man happen upon the Knight and the Ranger for, although he match the the face with the voice, he seems indifferent otherwise.

\"We speak of beauty, Bragollach -- sacred and inviolate. I have taken new vows -- and I shall keep them,\" whispers the Herald, a keen gaze catching his elder -- and saying no more.

Now turning back to Lossaran does Thorondur sigh, a quiet sound -- and nod some deeper level of agreement. \"I know too well your pain,\" he says, \"but if I know what it is, to touch the stars, Lossaran... I beg you, envy me not. For they are too bright. And in time, even I may be blinded.\"

Borgilas moves forward a final pace, and leans heavily upon his cane, completing a lop-sided triangle opposite the pair.

\"Beauty indeed,\" he agrees. \"And yet whatever oaths bind thee now did not always bind thee--and it is that of which I speak. The past should not be forgotten...but rather looked-to...\" here he tilts his grizzled head to gaze with some interest upon Lossaran, \"...as perhaps a sign of things which are yet to be.\"

The man\'s voice is soft in the fog-shrouded evening, but it growls slightly for all that.

Listening at first to the strange dialogue that takes place between Thorondur and the newest arrival, Lossaran leans back on his hands, still watching the stars glitter in the darkness. As once again he is spoken to directly he tries to navigate the man\'s ebbing and flowing thinking. Before he can say anything more Borgilas\' words reach his ears. \"Pasts are too soon brought up do you not think, sir? Is not a man the person he is at this moment, whether his past is good or otherwise?\"

\"And who is the man of the moment but a statue built by the masons of his past?\" is the Bragollach\'s quick reply.

Lossaran says, \"A statue is easily crumbled slowly through time or quickly by a hammer,\" adds Lossaran to Thorondur\'s arguement. \"Can not a man repent and therefore be forgiven for his transgressions? I would not judge a man by his past but by how he has overcome it.\" The stars are now forgotten and so are thoughts of Princesses, whether they be celestial or human.\"

\"And what then is the past,\" wonders Thorondur, silent too long, \"But a foundation to be built upon? Or if unsteady,\" he adds, now fixing the older lord with a keen and piercing stare, \"then to be torn up, and built again? For I choose to believe in Hope, Lord Borgilas,\" the Herald says at last. \"We are not all of us such pessimists, I think.\"

\"A statue is easily crumbled slowly through time or quickly by a hammer,\" adds Lossaran to Thorondur\'s arguement. \"Can not a man repent and therefore be forgiven for his transgressions? I would not judge a man by his past but by how he has overcome it.\" The stars are now forgotten and so are thoughts of Princesses, whether they be celestial or human.\"

OOC Note: At this point, Lossaran went to answer a phone call. He returned in the midst of... well, see for yourself!

Borgilas shakes his head, almost sadly. \"A man cannot be other than what he is--to claim otherwise is folly, or madness.\" He glances then at Thorondur. \"It may be said that a man has begun anew--or a foundation re-laid, to continue the metaphor and yet is he then the same at all? Nay--it is a new statue, and not the man at all. Thou--\" he stabs a finger now, \"--art not a new statue. Repentance is well and good, denial of the truth...\"

Tsking faintly, he turns his attention to Lossaran, and weighs him again for a moment. \"And the future...ah, therein lieth the thorns of the bramble.\" He sighs, but does not continue.

\"You know full well of what we speak, Bragollach,\" the Girithlin says coolly, his knowing blue eyes never leaving Lord Borgilas. \"And though you take delight in my ruin, if you can cause it -- I say to you, I will not be undone.\" And now stiffly he stands, though without the aid of an arm.

\"I love her, Borgilas,\" Thorondur swears, heedless of either man now, old rival or Ranger. \"Your poison words cannot change that, or break my resolve to be true. Get you gone, if on your tongue you have but venom.\"

The Bragollach snorts, sending a cloud of steam that vanishes into the night, swallowed into the breath of the Belegaer beyond. \"Is it, perhaps,\" he inquires now, turning away and staring westward into the night, \"Inconceivable to the Girithlin that there be those OTHER than himself who care for the Princess? That there be others who would not see her anguish--\" he turns again, passing a steely glare at Thorondur, \"--renewed? Thou had\'st gone--aye! merrily!--on thy quest. Thou left a broken girl in thy passing, and threw salt in her wounds with thy return, eldritch and fey. Now the winds change again, so it seems--and I shall not have it, I tell you!\" This last is hissed, and he strikes the damp flagstones for emphasis.

Cold as the frozen wastes of the North, distant Forochel, Thorondur endures the sudden fit of his longtime foe. And only when the storm has passed does he make his reply, quiet and weighted with ice.

\"No,\" the Herald says, \"You shall not have it. But not because you rage at ghosts, Borgilas Bragollach. Say rather that Thorondur Girithlin has come home, and that fog which brooded there upon his brow -- it has lifted.\"

Lossaran stands with the Knight, eyes wide at the viciousness displayed by both men. \"You both speak of the Princess do you not?\" he asks, confused, not quite able to gather all the information about what is going on. To Borgilas he speaks first, surprisingly defending the Knight, \"Did you ever consider that perhaps she too has a choice in whether Thorondur or anyone else is forgiven of past discretions?\"

And to Lossaran\'s sudden addition, this unheralded throwing in of an unexpected weight -- Thorondur looks with gratitude, aside to the Ranger -- and smiles gladly. \"I did not judge you badly,\" he murmurs.

Borgilas takes a moment to reassess as the assault is joined on a second front, and arches one brow. \"Verily,\" he answers the challenge, \"And from her own lips I have heard no acceptance of suit from this one--\" gesturing now at Thorondur, \"--or indeed any other.\" A pointed glance at Lossaran, now.

\"It may be,\" he adds a bare moment afterwards, \"That the Princess be old enough to act upon her own mind is not my decision to make. I am not her father and yet I think you two as guilty of deciding her fate as I am of defending it.\"

\"You jump too quickly, as the Bragollachs ever have,\" Thorondur says to that, a small, sad smile turning his lips. \"For you have heard no such thing, aye -- nor from our lips, either.\"

Lossaran laughs now, for the first time today stepping forward to bow before the elder Knight. \"Bragollachs!\" he exclaims, echoing the Knight-Herald, \"You are so concerned with your disputes with Girithlin that you are blinded to all reality.\" He smiles affably, his charm returning somewhat despite the chill, damp air that wishes for nothing mirthful. \"Come, she is more fair than these stars we looked upon earlier, do you blame any man for wishing to will her eye to look his way?\" he asks. \"The Knight-Herald is a fine lord and an honourable man. She could do much worse than he.\"

To Lossaran is given the haughty reply, \"A ranger out of the wilds, perhaps? Yes, I should think that worse, if barely. Yet the Princess is wise, as is the wont of her line burned once by a fire, I would hope her too hesitant to reach into flames again, whatever color they wear at the moment.\"

\"Flames, indeed. Get you gone, Bragollach -- I shall not say it again. Ever you -- and aye, your kin -- come to stir the ashes of discontent into living flame once more. Like the words of the deceiver in the East, I hear you speak. And I will not listen.\"

Now Thorondur raises a hand to the glass doors, the Citadel beyond them. And in his silence, he needs say no more -- all else is contained in that cool, hawkish stare.

Borgilas laughs openly now. \"Some spectre am I to be banished by such elven wizardry? If thou hear\'st the voice of the East in such words, it may merely be that thine ear hast too long been turned thither.\"

Lossaran continues to chuckle as he is slighted by the Knight. But at the words of Thorondur he thinks better of saying anything further. Instead he decides his welcome is far overstayed and looks to the two men. \"Lord Girithlin, as my father and his son were loyal to your family so am I. I shall remain in Dol Amroth for a few more nights ere I travel back to my home. I shall seek you out when the company is more...favourable.\" To Borgilas he nods his head in acknowledgement and strides down to the archways and disappears into the night.

\"You go too far,\" snaps the voice of the Herald, tense and strained with anger only barely held in check. \"I have broken three Bragollachs already this week. I pray you, old man -- do not force me to make you the fourth.\"

And he has: The Lady Gweneth\'s vaunted cunning the Lord Melethron\'s blade the Lord Indilzar\'s generalship. All fallen to Thorondur Girithlin. Yet it is as if the voice of Lossaran brings him peace --

-- and a cool wave, to wash back the flames of anger. Saying little more, the Herald gasps, clutching his side, \"I shall... follow you, good Lossaran. Away from here... at least.\" And in the footsteps of the other, he too makes to leave.

Borgilas laughs. \"Broken indeed. Enjoy thy games, Girithlin, and thy victories of play-acting. I shall be here when the laurel-wreath is withered.\"

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