(Archive) The Wounded Southron

[Moor(#20995)] Resting on a simple cot in the Houses of Healing lies Moor. The young man, found amongst a heap of burnt bodies in the square of Pelargir hovers in a fitful sleep, sweat beading on his brow. Lips moving silently, the young man speaks to people that only he can see. Despite his burns, to his back and to his right arm, Moor is young and tenacious and has held on. Though he speaks the tongue of the Southrons, he bears a remarkable resemblance to a Gondorian. His eyes...the few times they have been open, are a pale grey and his hair is black. His skin is very pale for one of his own, but nonetheless tanned when compared to a Gondorian\'s.

The first light of dawn is just barely peeping over the horizon as Lady Ivriniel strides into the Halls of Healing. Stopping to talk to the head assistant that has worked during the night the sister of Imrahil confers about the patients in the sickroom. Nodding her raven head as the woman lists the variety of problems encountered during the night Ivriniel thanks her with an air of distraction. Quietly rolling up her long white satin sleeves the daughter of Adrahil stops to check some of the burn victims from the square in Pelargir.

The Princess places a cool hand upon the forehead of one woman and then suddenly, she freezes, a look of shock upon her face. Slowly, turning in disbelief, her face pales as she looks down the rows of patients, awaiting to hear the hated tongue of the Southrons again. Not gifted in the language herself, she knows not the meaning of the words, only the sound of it when spoken. Walking slowly from bed to bed her eyes pierce those sleeping...watching, waiting for the voice of her enemy to sound again.

[Moor(#20995)] Again the young man speaks the strange words, forming them easily upon his dry lips. His eyes remain squeezed tight and his face grimaces with pain, as if he was not just suffering, but reliving painful memories as well. One hand clutches the bedsheets until his hand turns white, but the other remains immobile.

[Lothanis(#29577)] Lothanislies on a cot in the corner of the room. Still nursing injured ribs, he seems more bored and anxious then hurt. Looking up from his cot, Lothanis sees Ivriniel enter. He smiles, attempting to get her attention all the while straining to hear what was being said from the other end of the room.

Stopping at the end of the bed as the burned man again speaks the dreaded language of the Southrons, Ivriniel eases into the chair beside the bed. Horrified and yet fascinated as her eyes widen in recognition of the man. \"Oh my! You were on the...\", biting off her words so as to not startle the other healers Ivriniel stands and dips a white linen cloth in the bowl of infusion and begins to carefully bathe the head of the unconscious man. Leaning closer to hear every word as if willing herself to understand the words babbled in delirium.

[<#20995>] Moor murmurs again, and while his words are unintelligible to all...or perhaps most...in this room, a couple words can clearly be understood, \"\" The word \'Arali\' is clear, spoken several times. As the linen touches his fevered forehead, Moor\'s grey eyes flicker open for a moment, but he seems disoriented and unsure of himself.

[Rorgan(#19834)] There apart some from the others lie the worst burnt, many of them former archers in the Minas Tirith Guard. Here for many long hours has sat their Captain, called in when one of the young men cried out for him in the throes of agony.

Then, the long hours of motionlessness are broken. The Captain releases the young man\'s hand and rises to his feet, turning to cover the man\'s head with his light sheet. The end, mercifully and at last, has come for another of the maimed and disfigured of Pelargir.

Even as the Captain leaves that bed and draws a cup of water for himself from a pitcher, another of the badly burned men calls his name, and Rorgan then moves to that man, helping him drink around the bandages that cover three-fourths of the young man\'s face, though it will be young no more, and his one remaining eye already seems to have taken on the weight of timeless ages. Long, slender fingers work gently with the young man, and then another and another. It seems that, for now, it is only this tall greying-blonde Captain that moves about those deemed terminal, giving what comfort he may.

[Rorgan<#19834>] But at the sounding of the Haradraic, Rorgan whirls, reaching his hand first toward his empty scabbard and then to the dagger at his opposite hip. His eyes narrow and he comes away from those for whom all hope has been abandoned, demanding, \" What treachery is afoot here?!\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] The sky is pale above the Land of Princes, Dor-En-Ernil on the Coast of Powers. Dark clouds upon horizon like far off eagles fly atop the waves. The room is cast in twilight colors, moving into light from darkness with the dawning sun, mirroring the sunset. The door opens and enters a looming shape, its head crowned in shadow and billous black following in train. Erinhaim has entered. This man some whisper of and others speak against. His tall form clad in black and silver, his visage carved with dour lines, all give weight to this man\'s naming. For there are those who call him Crow Lord.

As the southron words are voiced, his dark eyes seem to hide themselves in shadow and a dark cloud appears upon his brow. The storm beckons beneath his cold visage as the heat of anger and the pain of memory rises in his breast.

\"Time after time the sister of Imrahil dips the linen cloth into the cool infusion and bathes the forehead of the man, her hand pausing as the word -ARALI- is understood. Drawing her hand back as if burned, the voice of Captain Rorgan breaks the peace of the sickroom as Ivriniel glances towards the Captain as his hand reaches for dagger. Sharply she says, \"Captain! There are no weapons in the sickroom.\" Drawing him forth with one quick motion of her head she whispers softly, \"Do you know of the attack in the Bay of Belfalas, where all were left dead, save myself?\" Drawing in a deep breath, her chest rising sharply as she says with one finger pointing to the man in the bed, \"This man...this -Southron- was aboard that ship\", fairly hissing out the words as she finishes\"

[Ninvainiel(#20721)] With no small degree of trepidation, the Lady Telepekhor peers around the frame of the doorway, her grey eyes wide as she looks in upon the injured. She is bent forward at the waist, her tall shape made smaller in its trappings of jacinth and silver, and steps slowly - she is halted with the Captain\'s outburst, however, and her face, meek as it is, now takes on a horrified expression.

Clutching at the edge of the doorway, she watches mutely.

Moor is blissfully unaware of the storm that his words have sparked. Perhaps that is for the best, for awareness of the dire situation he is now in would only compound his suffering. The young man suffers enough as it is, dealing with wave upon wave of pain and agony.

[Rorgan<#19834>] Lowering his hand from the small blade at his hip, Rorgan replies in kind, \" You, my lady, know as well as I that this blade is a tool and decoration more than it is a weapon. It alone, of all the blades I carry, has not tasted the blood of our enemies. If he\'s a Southron, then why don\'t we finish what the Dragon started. Let\'s take him out and burn him in the courtyard. Five minutes and I can have a pile of wood to rival the pyre of any heathen king that ever lived.\" Then he shrugs, tilting his head to the side slightly, \" He was on that ship, you say? All the more reason to burn him some more, I\'d say.\"

Shaking her head empathically the sister of Imrahil says sharply, \'No! I will not allow such a thing to happen. The name of Arali is upon this enemies lips and I know for a fact that the Tower Lord herself has been upon the docks of Dol Amroth.\" Hissing out sharply she says, \"She was brave enough to speak to me at length as she purchased healing herbs. I -will- have this man guarded until he is conscious. Perhaps he will aid our search for the smugglers that have infiltrated our shores\"

[Rorgan<#19834>] \'\'Too much, you say?\'\' Rorgan replies tersely to his brother, \" *** ***** ** *** **** *** ***, **** ****.\" It has all the vehemence of a curse, but then Rorgan shakes his head and presses a hand to his temples, \'\'Nay, my apologies, my brother, Lady Ivriniel, Lady Telpekhor... Too much time have I spent in the houses of late, for a man hale.\'\'

[Lothanis(#29577)] Unable to resist any longer, Lothanis forces himself to stand, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Slowly he shuffle his feet as he treks from his darkened corner to a lighter part of the room. Approaching warily as he sees the tension emminating from the formed group around what appears to be a Harad, he comes to stand at the side of Ivriniel, lightly touching her on the shoulder. He nods to the rest, each in turn, a questioning look upon his face.

Turning at the familiar voice of Lord Erinhaim, the daughter of Adrahil nods politely, \" M\'Lord. How -pleasant- to see you again.\", the sound of her voice not in harmony with the words spoken. Turning at the touch of a hand upon her shoulder, Ivriniel says softly, \" Lothanis. You should not be out of bed just yet.\" Narrowing her eyes as she looks at the young squire she says, \" Come. Let me help you.\" With that the Princess leans her head close to that of the squire and says, \" Are you able to find the Knight Herald? I would seek his counsel -immediately-\", her voice low enough to only be heard by the young squire

Ninvainiel chews anxiously on her lower lip, and then slips back out the door from whence she came.

Lothanis\' eyes narrow at the whispered word from Ivriniel. \"I shall see him as soon as you let me out of this place,\" he says with a slight grin. Looking up to the group, his eyes seem to look everywhere but at Erinhaim.

[Rorgan(#19834)] Stepping then to the side and still rubbing his temple, Rorgan stands in silence, yet his eyes never leave the semi-conscious Southron.

[<#20260>] Erinhaim says in Sindarin, \"//Dark eyes turn first upon their brother as words envenomed are loosed upon him. His dark brows raise and not light is the look bestowed upon the Steward by his Lord. He answers nothing to it. But his frown is little lightened by the welcome of the Princese Ivriniel. Nor, does his attention miss the truculance of Lothanis and his seeming welcome of dismissal. And so, the storm grows in greater shadow, crowning the tall form of this Crow Lord, Erinhaim.

Finally, he smiles and it is little mirrored in his voice, \"It seems the Servants of the Tower have been gifted to a lesser welcome by both kith and kin.\" His mirthless eyes rest finally upon the wounded Haradrim, \"I know a little of how this one feels.\"

[Rorgan<#20260>] Dark eyes turn first upon their brother as words envenomed are loosed upon him. His dark brows raise and not light is the look bestowed upon the Steward by his Lord. He answers nothing to it. But his frown is little lightened by the welcome of the Princese Ivriniel. Nor, does his attention miss the truculance of Lothanis and his seeming welcome of dismissal. And so, the storm grows in greater shadow, crowning the tall form of this Crow Lord, Erinhaim.

Finally, he smiles and it is little mirrored in his voice, \" It seems the Servants of the Tower have been gifted to a lesser welcome by both kith and kin.\" His mirthless eyes rest finally upon the wounded Haradrim, \" I know a little of how this one feels.\"

As if suddenly aware of the precarious postion of diplomacy needed here in the Halls of Healing, the sister of Imrahil makes her decision. \" Nay Lothanis. Those broken ribs need a few more days of bedrest before you are allowed more movement. Come. Let me get you settled back into your bed.

[Moor(#20995)] For a while Moor has laid quietly in bed, murmuring to himself and carrying on his own conversation. Then suddenly his eyes go wide with pain and he makes a wild grab at Ivriniel with his hand, \"Arali!\" he shouts. The rest is unintelligible, but the young man seems quite insistent and he collapses back to bed, writhing in pain.

[Rorgan<#19834>] His own eyes narrowing, Rorgan replies quietly, \" Let it not come to brother against brother. I know of what you speak, brother, and were there such a thing as an honorable enemy in these times, I would say that he deserves to be treated honorably.\" He sighs, \" But I will yield to the Lady Ivriniel on the grounds that oft such dark languages have passed our own lips in dreaming of the past. Perhaps we should wait until this one is hale and see what he has to tell us.\"

Hearing the name of Arali again spoken in delirium, Ivriniel visibly shudders as dark thoughts obviously cloud the sea grey eyes of the Princess. Drawing back to where Erinhaim and Rorgan stand in conversation she says simply, \"We must know what this man is doing in Gondor. Perhaps he is a traitor to Arali. Who knows until he is well enough to speak.\" Shrugging one shoulder she says, \"I know not the language of the Southron, but we must find one that does. And guards, we must have guards protecting not only us but this man from those that would have his death.\" Thinking aloud she says, \"The secure room is such a place. I will nurse him myself, along with a trust guard.\"

Lothanis\' gaze lingers on Ivriniel as he nods. \"Gentlemen,\" he says to the group. A frowns of disdain darkens his face as he looks at the Harad. He turns with Ivri, suffering himself to be led back to his cot.

[Rorgan<#19834>] Nodding to the Lady\'s words, Rorgan replies, \" I do not know enough of it to be of any interrogative use, yet I know one who does, having helped teach her a little of the speech of my mother\'s people when she was but a youngling girl.\" Then the Captain starts to smile, \" I speak of your niece, my lady, though I would rather not expose her to such courseness as this, lest the man was shackled hand and foot and tied to the bed.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Smiling, a cold thing on a stoic face more known for its mirth, Erinhaim nods. \"Aye, and whose guards wilt thou wish, Lady? There are some in my employ who are long on memory and little short on martial skill.\" A heavy hand motions to the silent man who has entered unannounced. A crow in man shape, clad in the raiment of the tower, with bright eyes glinting and face as stern and cold as his Minister\'s has become.

For his brother, Erinhaim has no answer. For it may be that the meaning of the Lord\'s words have been missed upon the Steward.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The tall Captain\'s fists clench and unclench at his sides momentarily, then he shakes his head and turns to leave the room, his long legs carrying him at a stately pace toward the door. For once, the dourness of his own expression is an equal to that of his brother.

Shaking her head empathically the Princess says sharply, \'Nay! My niece will not be exposed to this vile creature. I saw him kill Gondorians before my very eyes, I will not have her delicate mental balance threatened by this enemy.\" Turning to look at Erinhaim her eyes hold his as she considers the answer to his question and then says softly, \"That is a good question Lord Erinhaim. I would defer to your judgement, and yet....honour and loyalty would require that the Knight Captain be called as counsel as all of my brother\'s fief is under his guidance and protection.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"Let Ithilir be privy to these councils then,\" Says Erinhaim, \"I would not have the will of Imrahil defied by that of Denethor.\"

His eyes have not answers Ivriniel. For though she might seek to gaze at his, his looks are for the wounded man alone. But the reason for this is a secret kept by the heavy handed Minister. And like his name sake, he looms above the sourthron. A lord of crows he truely seems in that hour before the sun has lit the sky and burned away the morning mists. They cloud the tops of the tall towers by the sea in furnerary colors.

[Rorgan<#19834>] Turning then, at the door, Rorgan growls back toward his brother and the Lady, \" Fie on you both!\" He shakes his head, \" You who should know better. You already make yourselves out to know better than I, so I guess I am not needed here. Fie on you both! The blood shall be upon your hands!\" Then he does a military about-face and heads out the door, fey mood seeming to billow his cloak even as he passes from sight, muttering something about the proper manners with which to greet someone when they\'ve snuck up upon you from behind.

Surprised by the outburst of Captain Rorgan, the brother of Lord Erinhaim, the sister of Imrahil says naught of it, but raises one eyebrow in question as she turns her full attention back to the Lord Minister of Denethor and says, \"Ithilir? Nay, Erinhaim. The Knight Captain is none other than the Lord Girithlin. He must be called in as counsel on such a -delicate- matter as this.\" Pursing her lips in thought as she looks upon the unconscious form of the Southron she suggests, \"Why not place him in the secure room tonight with one of your men and one of the Swan Knights as guards. That way, none will dare to pass the barricade until this man can be interrogated.\"

Erinhaim jerks a thumb at the unnamed man that stands as silent witness by the door. That man then moves to follow Rorgan, disappearing through the door with a mere whisper of his passage. A moment passes and the man returns, resuming his station by the door.

The eyes of the Lord Nimothan never leave the face of this charge of Ivriniel. Like obsidian they\'ve grown, sharp and glittering as memories of a past life surface. He answers Ivriniel with a voice of heart unlightened by her words, \"If \'tis true, then this is new to the knowledge of the Tower. For Thorondur, Lord Girithlin, is only known as Knight-Herald to the Prince... Amongst other things.\"

The cloud that crowns the Lord of Crows grows darker still and little like the man that first arrived here but two years past is he who stands here now.

A narrowing of eyes shows doubt as the Lord Minister speaks of the Knight Herald and she calls a guard with a quick motion of one hand, rather impatiently saying, \"Come.\" The guard rushes to the sister of Ivriniel and bows solemnly, \'Yes. Your Grace\" The sister of Imrahil makes a quick decision and says, \"Take a verbal missive to my brother. Tell him that I wish to speak to him regarding his Oath. He will know the urgency of that message. Now go quickly.\" Brushing her hands along the smooth lines of her satin gown the Princess nods her head with a smile of apology to Erinhaim and says, \"In all of the confusion, I had forgotten to notify my kinsman of this situation\" Again her fingers dip into the bowl and squeeze out a linen cloth and then places it upon the forehead of the Southron as she says offhandedly, \"And what would you have done with this man, Erinhaim?\"

[Moor(#20995)] As if perhaps sensing the man\'s obsidian gaze, Moor\'s eyes lazily drift towards Erinhaim and remain fixed there. Yet still the look upon the young man\'s face is one of confusion and it is clear he knows not where he is.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"He is in your charge, Lady, and shall remain so,\" Erinhaim says, \"He has little use to the will of Denethor if not alive.\" The Lord smiles as the distracted gaze of the wounded man drifts up to rest on him. Like the threat of some great storm marching toward the coast, the clouds on Erinhaim now sit. Beneath is anger and the memory of pain inflicted by a hard people. His dark eyes flash like lighting and his voice is the thunder of that same tempest, its echoes still remaining far away.

\"So, the Knight-Captain is made without the knowledge of Imrahil?\" The Lord of Crows looks not at Ivriniel. His gaze he reserves for this object of appraisal lying prone beneath him. Yet, a heavy hand drifts toward his wrist to clasp there some reminder. Again the smile, coldly comes.

[Arnafel(#22292)] And light as the cloud which wreathes the Nimothan is dark, stands one in the arched doorway, his coming unheard -- a man tall and lordly, clad in azure and Isil\'s pale colours, gilt-edged with Arien\'s fire, a star upon his breast.

For this, they name him the Silver Knight.

Erinhaim says, \"The customs of Amroth are strange that the Prince the Captain serves is not consulted with its making.\"

Nodding her head graciously to the Minister of Denethor, the Master healer gives him a smile, much warmer than the one upon his arrival in -her- Halls of healing. \"Thank you Erinhaim. I am glad to see that we are in accord.\" Shuddering slightly Ivriniel adds, \'Your brother wishing to have a pyre in the courtyard and end the life of this -Southron- had my heart stilled in my chest.\" Her words are deadly cold as she says, \"Make no mistake of this. I wish this enemy nothing but death----nothing\", spitting out the words sharply, \'But it will not help us uncover the plot that lies beneath his very presence here. We -cannot- have Southron invading our shores without our knowledge.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] Yet, not unseen is he who enters, the Silver-Knight. For there is a witness. Tall and dark he sits, clad in livery of Minas Tirith with bright eyes and dour visage. In Pelargir they called those such as he a Crow and for that was their master then named Crebaindir.

The unnamed man stands silently beside the door. Only his eyes move to make note of Arnafel.

Beneath his shroud of unvoiced anger, Erinhaim bows, \"Yes... Many are the devices of the Southron I would have unearthed. These treasons that have passed our bournes still creep like dark things from their black wholes. They are turned to gold within the market place and turn the hearts of Gondor a shade unpleasent to mine eye.\"

The smile does not leave his lips. Erinhaim\'s gaze is fixed upon this wounded figure, waiting.

[Arnafel(#22292)] \"The Prince\'s oath is not forgotten, nor set aside. But matters of great import hold him fast now...and in his stead, he sends me.\"

Even as the Nimothan\'s grim words echo in the chamber, another voice, clear and measured, rises above them. And the one in the doorway come forth, his gaze sharp upon the wounded man, ere turning to Imrahil\'s sister -- and he inclines his head to her in courteous greeting, \"Lady...what passes here that the Prince must need see it for himself?\"

A look of disappointment is quickly masked as the sister of Imrahil nods in acknowledgement of the Silver Knight and smiles softly, \"Tis a matter of great importance -and- delicacy M\'Lord.\" Pointing to the figure in the bed she says, \"This man was upon the Corsair ship that attacked the Gondorian ship in the Bay. I witnessed him killing and looting the ship with my own eyes.\" Her eyes grow as cold as winter snow as she says, \"He now speaks the name of Arali, the Tower Lord of Harad in his unconscious state.\"

Pausing briefly, she adds, \"With all of the wounded that were brought from Pelargir and the chaos, I did not notice his presence until I heard the cursed langage of the Southron spoken. I am not learned in the language, but have heard it enough to know the it when spoken by others.\" Narrowing her eyes as if to make a point without saying the words, Ivriniel adds, \"Lord Erinhaim and I were discussing the calling of the Knight Herald in as co-counsel since this is such a delicate matter of state.\" A sly smile curves her lips as she adds softly, \"And of course, a loyal sister would -always- keep her brother informed of such things\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"It is a goodly kin that holds such duty,\" Erinhaim says dourly. \"Denethor would have this person rendered up in answer to some concerns which have graced his ears and which still trouble the land in places far removed from Dol Amroth,\" His voice addresses Arnafel, though he looks not towards the Silver-Knight. The dark eyes of the tall lord still dwell upon burned man, as if to peirce the veil that covers up the southron\'s brain and deliver up some answer to the will of Denethor

[Moor(#20995)] Slowly, the young Haradrim drifts back off to an uneasy sleep, emitting only the occasional whimper as he injuries plague him even as he rests. No answers will come from him this day, yet perhaps in the future... Only time will tell what this man shall reveal.

[Arnafel(#22292)] Sharp and sudden, an exclamation of startlement cuts through the Princess\' words -- and in the doorway stand two of the Order of the Swan, raven-haired and grey eyed as all their brethren. And one among is intent upon the Minister, heedless of all else -- until the Isilrim lord\'s calm voice reaches him.

\"Stand back, Calladan.\"

And to the Nimothan, Arnafel casts a thoughtful glance then, \"Lord Erinhaim...I have heard of you ere this. I bid you welcome to the Marble Citadel in the Prince\'s name.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] The Lord Nimothan turns. He smiles warmly at the Knights before the doorway, though his eyes are cold and hard. He bows his greying locks beneath their crown of shadows. \"It is the first such welcome I have had, Lord Isilrim. You are known to me ere this as well.\" A slight glance is lit on Calladan, though little substance has it.

His deep voice echoes in the still room, \"Tell me, what is the will of Imrahil upon this man?\" The thick band of puckered flesh shines in the grey light as collar of his sleeve is pulled away from the wrist. It speaks as testiment to the courtesy of Haradrim to guests from Gondor. The shadow by the door, the Minister\'s \'crow.\' Stirs not as the Girithlin makes motions to his Lord. But, there is a coiled tension in the man and his bright eyes little leave the knights before him.

[Arnafel(#22292)] In brooding silence -- heedless now of the Minister\'s voice, or Calladan\'s flashing gaze upon the one by the door -- the Lord of the Isilrim stands, his gaze heavy upon the hapless Southron -- and his thoughts are his own to know, for his visage reveals little of them. Thus long moments pass, each one a measure of the day\'s death...each one a measure of the Southron\'s fading life.

Until in the end, the Silver Knight stirs.

\"How sorely is he wounded? And who\" -- sudden and keen, his gaze turns to the nameless one -- \"is he who stands thus in our counsels?\"

Standing in quiet contemplation as the Knights and the Lord Minister of Denethor talk of the patient laying unconscious before her, Ivriniel continues to bathe the forehead of the man with a linen cloth dipped in an herbal infusion. A loud screech from another bed garners the attention of the Master healer and she says softly to the men, \"I must see to my other patients. I -trust- this matter will be resolved to the satisfaction of my brother\"

With that the sister of Imrahil strides across the room and attends to the patient that is being restrained by two male healers.

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"He is a Deputy to Lord Minister of Denethor, Servant to the Tower,\" Answers Erinhaim for the silent man, \"He and his five fellows, attend me on the matter of some Southron goods we know to have passed the bournes of Gondor in Belfalas.\"

His hand motions toward the Knights in company of Arnafel, \"Can he not bear witness for his Lord as thy fellows bear for thee?\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"Ah...\" Says Erinhaim, \"Is there a reason? How much care will he receive thither?\" The Lord Minister\'s eyes say nothing and the cold smile sits frozen -- The time-etched lines upon his visage make a sharp edged frame. \"It is not the will of Denethor that this man dies...\"

A heavy pause is left to linger before the Crebaindir continues, \"Before he answers up some words.\"

[Arnafel(#22292)] \"If there is one Southron here, Nimothan\" -- swiftly the two Knights come forth, beckoned by Arnafel, \"We will take him into the Tower upon the bed. I fear to do otherwise may well cause him harm. Sorondil, hold him steady when we bear him thither.\"

And the Silver Knight turns again to Erinhaim, \"...there may well be others. I will not have him escape or be slain ere we have spoken to him. Come, have your man lend a hand.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"Will the secrets of this man remain thus to the Servants of the Tower? For I fear that the Minister of Denethor is little loved in Dol Amroth.\" Erinhaim motions for the unnamed Deputy to aid the knights. The man bows and steps forth, lending his aid silently. Dour are the men that serve the Steward and often present when death looms greatest and so the people name them Crows.

\"Much less is the love of the Knight-Herald who I hear now named Knight-Captain for the Lord Nimothan who also is Lord Minister. I fear that little courtesy will be graced upon this office to have access to this man,\" Erinhaim does not lend his strength to those who bear the burden. He remains aloof, the smile still cold upon his once warm visage.

[Arnafel(#22292)] \"Do you fear then\", and with arched brow the Isilrim regards Erinhaim, pausing -- as do the others who stand by the bed -- while the sister of Imrahil makes her way to the Southron\'s side, a silent yet commanding presence, \"...that the Prince will dishonour one who serves the Steward?\"

And turning, he takes his place with the others even as they raise the bed slowly, \"And what passes between the Knight-Herald...not the Knight-Captain, though some would have him thus...and the Lord Minister is for them to know and think on.\"

[Erinhaim(#20260)] \"I fear only wreckless wills that will defy a master for some pride in them,\" Says Erinhaim, \"But I do not doubt the faith between Steward and Prince. But your words have eased some worry in me, Isilrim.\"

He moves to take his place by his silent, unnamed, Deputy. None will say the Minister remains unburdened when others toil.

[Arnafel(#22292)] \"Then you know the Girithlin little -- and you wrong him thus.\"

Level and cool as it ever is, the Isilrim\'s voice sounds in the silence, broken only by the strained breaths of the men as they bear the Southron outside...

...away from the chamber shadowed by the memory of pain and despair and relentless death, and into the cleansing light of Anor. And thus, unkowing he goes forth into the brightness of day, one last time ere his Doom claims him.