(Archive) - The Quest for the White Rose

Elendor - Wednesday, August 09, 2000, 2:37 PM

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Weather: Clear

Time: Early Afternoon

Season: Winter

Date: Monday - January 8, 3021

Real Time: Wed Aug 09 14:43:25 2000

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Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Hanging Gardens

A burst of verdure tucked in the space between the citadel to the north and the cliffs leading down to the sea on the south and west. The Gardens are surrounded by a slightly raised terrace, in which grow trees of all sizes and descriptions, from magnificent ancient lebethron to youthful rowan, their boughs and branches overhanging the periphery of the garden. Interspersed in the interior are massive chiseled cubes upon which rest pillars as tall as the trees while smooth stone arches between. Plants and vines spill from these arches in green cascades, birds and insects flitting among them. Sparse grass clings to the ground under this canopy, unable to grow thicker in the shadows beneath.

The air is heavy with the scent of flowers and the moisture of the Gardens themselves--a trickling sound fills the air at all hours from the water-channels dug into the archways, adding to the humidity. Beyond the trickling, birds chirp and whistle, and insects buzz, while the sea roars in the distance. Compared to this, the soft conversations of wanderers among the shadowed columns is insignificant and almost inaudible.

The Sun is still quite high in the sky and the plains and waters lay sparkling under a clear Winter sky.

Contents:

Leif

Obvious exits:

Archway

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Hanging Gardens

Cold as the season may be, by early afternoon there are a few folks wandering about the Prince\'s garden. A wonderous place this is, for even in the midst of winter, there are plants and flowers blooming about the stone.

A young woman walks the pathways of the garden here, a cloak of royal blue and silver clasped close against the cold, as her eyes skim over the plants and flowers. She pays little attention to anything else.

Humming to herself as she turns the corner and enters the garden is the sister of Imrahil. A snow white cloak lined with ermine covers the lady from head to toe, her face barely visible. Her left arm is hooked through the handle of a basket lined with white linen cloth and trimmed with lace. Pausing for a moment as her hand reaches up to snap a slender limb from an old willow branch she then places her find in the basket and strolls on up the pathway, still humming to herself.

Glancing towards the area where two of her assistant healers are kneeled gathering imporant leaves from the tender plants that are cultured there, Ivriniel watches them work for only a minute and then spies the form of her beloved niece upon the walkway. Calling out in a cheerful, melodic voice she says, \"Lothiriel! My dear! Tis is not a lovely day, despite the cold?\"

Moving throw the gardens slowly, a young servant waters the more delicate, thirstier plants, glancing towards the Princess and her healers from time to time, but for the most part just tending to her duties.

The young Princess glances up a moment as her name is called, then starts, and looks up, a smile gracing her features as she greets her kinswoman. \"Oh, a wonderful day indeed, Lady!\" There is a gay tone to her voice, a cheer, for the first time in a long time. \"Beautiful and lovely and...\" Realizing there are other ears in the yard at this time, she allows her words to fall off and finishes with a smile. \"A lovely day, yes. What brings you here?\"

A sweet tinkling of laughter sounds in the crisp cold air as Ivriniel walks closer to her beloved niece and smiles, her silvery grey eyes scanning the face of Lothiriel, \"My child....how lovely you look today.\" Raising one hand gloved in the softest of white leather she brushes the cheek of the youngest Imrazor and says softly, \"What a lovely bloom upon your cheek my dear.\" Pleased at the expression upon the face of her brothers daughter she notes, \"I cannot recall when last I heard such a gay tone to your voice. Would I be intrusive if I were to ask what brought about such a lovely state of affairs?\"

Facing the sea is a rare sight for Leif of Westfold\'s eyes. All seems to interest him, from the tiniest sail to the foam of waves and company of gulls. Yet some voices, and these voices arent the gulls\'s makes him turn. and there behind im another rare sight is, two ladies of Dol Amroth, so alike in their bearing and beauty that the Rider is speechless and statufied some long seconds. Finally he takes a step toward them, in the same alley.

The young Princess\'s smile is not wide, not giant, but radiates a cheer through her eyes that rivals a spring morning. \"Many have asked in years past for some token to carry into the tourniments held by my father.. And many years has it been since the one that I wish has asked for that honor.\" Aware that her words may be confusing, she adds more quietly, \"I have need of a white flower, Lady. Know you where I can find one?\" A quick glance about causes her eyes to fall on the others in the yard, particularly the man who stares at she and her kinswoman. A soft smile is cast his way.

Unaware of those that also visit the lovely garden this chilly morning, Ivriniel focuses her attention on the beloved youngest child of her brother and a smile of gladness warms her face as her words practically gush with enthusiasm, \"A token in the tournament! How wonderful\" and then...the face of Ivriniel is crestfallen as she shakes her head and says, \"But alas, Lothiriel, I know not of one that you hold dear to your heart.\" Her words drop to almost a whisper as she says, \'I know only of the one that has brought pain and heartache to you.\" Curiosity stills the elder Imrazor as she moves closer to her niece and says, \"Tell me my dear...of whom do you speak?\"

Unless Lothiriel, Leif would be rather on a grim or melancholic mood or so his nervous smile or the ripple on his brow could tell. Politely as he sees his presence is discovered, he fold his hands on his chest and readies to bow as he nears them. Patiently he awaits them, a smile flourishing on his lips.

A glimmer of winter sunlight reflects in Lothiriel\'s eyes as she turns once more to the foliage around her. \"You shall see when the tourney begins, dearest Aunt,\" the Princess says with a sly smile. \"But could you not perhaps help me find this white flower for his request?\"

Turning quickly her attention to Leif, \"You do not by chance carry them around with you, do you? A white rose, in wintertime?\"

Startled by her niece speaking to another, the Lady Ivriniel turns and gives the man a soft smile and nod of her head. Amusement doth twinkle in the deep grey of her eyes as she remarks, \"I shall see when the tournament begins. How very coquettish of you, my dear.\", a hint of laughter in each word as she says, \"And you sir, do you know of where one can find such a flower in the coldest of winter?\" One slender hand rearranges the linen cloth lining the basket and she -pretends- to search for a white rose, raising her head with a stricken expression, \"Oh no Princess! No white rose is to be found hiding here.\" Grinning teasingly she says, \"Perhaps the rose bushes hidden from the cold winter winds whipping across the Bay will bear fruit in your labor.\"

Leif executes his bow and eyes the two lady with some wonder. He shakes his head thoughtfully \"No ladies, I offered my last to... \"He lets a blank there and then chuckles. With a small wave of his hand, he looks helplessly around \"I have not alas, pardon my humour...\" he then looks Lothiriel, gray eyes spying her, curious too as he heard strands of words from her \"No lady your mother\" he inclines his head toward Ivriniel \"is right, perhaps in some sheltered place. I dont remember to have seen any here, I come often.\"

Blinking once, twice, the young lady glances up at her elder kinswoman and asks in the most serious voice. \"Lady Ivriniel, do you mock me?\" And yet she smiles once more, perhaps not concerned about a little mocking, and runs her eyes over the garden, seeking any trace of white. And yet she is called back by the fellow\'s words, and tilts her head to the side, \"I wonder. Do I resemble my father so much that his own sister could be mistaken for my mother?\" There is a smile in her eyes as she waits for the man to answer.

A laugh as pure and sweet as the driven snow slips past the pink lips of Ivriniel as the man mistakes her for the mother of Lothiriel. Dimples appear in both porcelain cheeks as her amusement is still great upon finally voicing words, \"Oh my dear man, the Princess is the daughter of Imrahil, the light of his eye and my beloved niece. \" Turning to Lothiriel with a warmth and love shining from her eyes she says, \"Not that I could have wished for a daughter more like my kinswoman, but alas, she is as close to me as any child I could have born.\" For some strange reason, tears rise bidden to the sea grey eyes of the elder Imrazor and she reaches in the deep pocket of her cloak to retrieve a white lace hankerchief and turns away as she delicately wipes both eyes, clearing her throat as she turns back to the two and says, \"I do believe I did see either a white rose or a small gardenia in bloom against yon rock wall.\", her finger pointing to an area to the left.

Leif puts a hand to his mouth and chin, shved for once. His pale skin takes a rosy flush too, \"I couldnt say, lady. Perhaps then tough I remember barely your father to be frank. I am really sorry.\" He then looks shyly at Ivriniel \"Niece, I was sure you were akin... It seemed me the most probable, I should have thought earlier, again my apologies.\"

\"It\'s a slight advantage I have on you now then\" the Rider says, his hands going off his mouth as his colour is getting pale again. \"I guess now you are surely Lothiriel, daughter of the Prince Imrahil. If I heard right lady princess...\". He sighs and waits for her active aunt. Using this little pause, he lays hia hand on his chest \"I am myself Leif of Westfold, maegisterwigend of Dunlostir.\" He smiles and adds \"It must sound completely alien for you...\"

Falling silent as her niece and the unknown gentleman discuss the procurement of a white rose, the eyes of the elder Imrazor grow distant as they travel around the garden and then turn back to the pair as Lothiriel asks of the man\'s name. Gracing them both with a warm smile she awaits the answer to the question in still repose.

The young Princess raises a dark brow, \" Not so foreign as that, Leif of Westfold,\" she replies. \'It would be wrong to say I spend all my days seeking flowers for suitors -- I have much more important things to do most of the time, and reading of our northern neighbors and allies is certainly one of them.\'

The sister of Imrahil smiles at the Rohirrim guest and says, \"Welcome to Gondor, Leif. Tis a pleasure to meet you. As always we welcome our allies to the North, ever thankful for the Oath of Eorl.\" The chill of the air blowing in from the Bay of Belfalas whips around the trio as they stand in the garden and Ivriniel stomps her chilled feet saying, \"I dare say that I shall have to seek the warmth of inside soon my dear. Did you want to walk closer to the wall and peruse the flower I spied or shall I leave you alone with your thoughts?\"

Leif is truly impressed and it\'s with another glance that he looks again Lothiriel, replying her in Common without accent yet, he smiles \"I see, or rather heard that.... I am honored and I cant answer your politeness in your tongue alas.\" He halts and looks the elder woman, he inclines his head \"Thanks you, yet it happen I will leave soon to my regret and dismay....\"

\"I will pick it soon, but would not keep you out in the cold too long, dear kinswoman. Seek the one wearing my token at the tourniment.\" Her smile turns swiftly to Leif, \"I fear preparation for said event calls me away... I must locate the one to whom this blossom will belong before it all begins. A good day to you both.\"

And with that, the young Princess scurries off to pick her flower, or find another brighter.

*note- A short time later*

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Library Stretching from floor to ceiling, from

wall to wall, this room is packed with books. From east to west is a tiled walk,

each stone placed meticulously by colour and pattern, giving the walkway as

a whole the appearance of a flowing river. To the left side of the path, a maze

of bookcases is sprawled. It appears a chaotic jumble of books, but there is

some sense of order to it. To the right of the path, the books are less dense.

Most of the area consists of small writing desks, intended for studying and

copying. A few plush couches are there also, for more leisurely reading, but

they look lonely. Darkness drapes the entire room like a heavy shroud. An occassional

shadow dances across the shelves, as the candle of some studious individual

flickers in the night air. The walkway glimmers and seems to move, like a slowly

flowing river under the pale stars of heaven. Quiet in the daytime, at night

this place is like a tomb.

Contents: The Great Codex of the Swan(#25210X)

The Tome of the Bragollach(#1843)

Obvious exits: Lebethron Door and Oak Doors

In the gentle quiet of the library, at a table near the wall with a number of parchments and tomes stacked and scattered about upon it, sits a young woman, head bowed over a thick volume.

Dusty and a bit worse for wear, clad in comfortable black riding leathers and only a light shirt of chain, Thorondur Girithlin opens the great doors of the library slowly. Peering within, a bit curious to judge by his expression, he nods to himself upon spying the Princess. And so without further ado, still a bit sweaty from a late practice at arms, the Knight Herald enters the silent library. Quetly, he calls, \"Lothiriel?\"

Absorbed completely in the text before her, the young Princess does not notice the door opening, nor the arrival of the Knight, nor anything else going on about her. Yet after a long moment she glances up.. and raises startled brows as her eyes settle on Thorondur. \"Yes?\" she answers, her tone guarded.

Face going a bit tight -- perhaps from weariness, perhaps from nerves -- the Herald visibly composes himself.

Indeed, he self-consciously runs a hand through his hair, almost fidgeting, before starting across the tiled floor. Steeling himself, drawing a deep breath, he reaches her place of repose. \"Your Grace,\" he says respectfully, \"Some days ago, I asked of you a boon. I would know how you answer it, for the tourney begins this evening, and--\" Smiling sheepishly, Thorondur covers his heart and the device there with his right hand. \"In truth, I have been ill-at-ease with the waiting.\"

Appearing well enough relaxed, Lothiriel inclines her head, a very small smile turning up the corners of her lips as though she finds amusement in the Herald\'s current state. \"Thorondur, the Knight-Herald? Ill-at-ease? I find that almost impossible to believe...\"

Dark, slender eyebrows knit wryly together in at least an echo of the young woman\'s amusement -- but behind his blue eyes, Thorondur\'s doubt clearly lingers. \"Believe it, my lady,\" he quips, choosing a light-hearted tone. \"Why, this very morn Sir Calladan told me several pigs flew past him above the battlements, heading south for the winter.\" And though he grins his contagious smile, Lothiriel is one who knows too well -- a jest of that nature can only cover nerves.

Ill at ease, indeed. Eyes narrowing just slightly, Lothiriel casts the Knight a slightly amused glance, \"And you believed him? Such a poor state of affairs the land must be in today.\" And yet she stands, pushing her chair back from the table with little noise, and steps away from her place of hiding and study.

Sighing a bit, in good humour for all of that, Thorondur stands aside with a step toward the nearby window embrasure, looking on Imrahil\'s daughter with a wistful smile. \"In truth,\" the knight replies, \"Strange portents seem almost commonplace of late. Perhaps that is why,\" he wonders, glancing idly now out of the window, \"I might dare ask a flower of the Flower-Queen herself -- and dare even further, to hope for it?\"

As the Knight turns and watches the window for a moment, the Princess kneels beside her chair and a basket situated there, careful not to dirty the skirt of her gown. She rises and glides to the window. Her hands, cupped together, are extended towards the Knight-Herald, and she opens them to reveal a rose of the purest white. \"None but the daring have ever had a chance of recieving such a thing.\"

And if such a thing can truly be said, the Knight-Herald\'s face brightens in wonder. Sapphirine eyes mist over, maybe, like a drizzle at dawn, and a brilliant smile of thanksgiving alights upon his lips. A swift intake of breath -- a sudden, impulsive nod -- and Thorondur reaches out his hands to hers, to accept the gifted flower. \"Lothiriel,\" he swears, \"I shall not fail thee.\" And humbly, he bows his head.

A soft smile plays upon the lips of the young woman, and she inclines her head once more, a few wisps of raven hair falling across her shoulder. \"A heart twice failed is one sorely wounded, Thorondur. I trust that when this

tourney ends, my father shall be hailing you champion.\"

Taking the rose between two slender fingers, the Herald tucks it in a rather audacious place -- behind his ear -- and catches her hands up again. \"Never failed, Flower of Amroth,\" Thorondur promises the Princess. \"Never again.\" And raising her hands to his lips, he places a chaste kiss upon them.

Smiling fully now, Imrahil\'s daughter nods towards the door. \"I will hold you to that promise, Knight-Herald.\" A flicker of surprise flashes across her features, and she glances out the window. \"I hear the call to gather -- the ceremonies will soon begin.\"

\"Then I suppose I must go down and give my speech, soon enough,\" Thorondur quips, his mood lightened truly this time, and then he laughs! \"But look at me. A dusty, reckless rogue I must seem. Ah well -- let them laugh, or mock me,\" he decides. \"I am glad enough.\" And opening the door for the Princess, he gestures graciously to the gallery beyond. \"After you, Your Grace.\" And the station is assigned with an old wink of mischief.