(Archive) The Ghost of Adrahil
From the archives of the Gondorian
OK, this I believe was a TP that ended up fizzling out. The premise was that the grave of Adrahil had been defiled by Careithros Darkbow, a renegade ranger of the North. We used some Hamletesque scenes in this.
Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Upper Courtyard(#30076Rn)
A broad, stone-lined plaza, almost devoid of color, drowned as it is in a sea of white rock. The eye is drawn westward, to a broad-stepped stair that rises in place of the courtyard\'s western wall--rising for some distance westward to kneel before a pillared portico. To the east lies a short wall, beyond which is a twenty-five foot drop to the Lower Courtyard, accessible by the stair set against the northern wall. Southward lies an outbuilding joined to the rock of the battlements, with pillared stoa and outbuildings running alongside it. Rising to the north is the fortified, castellan shape of the Knights\' Tower, constructed with the barbicans running through its broad midsection, and flanked by more stoa and outbuildings.
Beyond and above the portico westward rise the pale towers and pinnacles of Imrahil\'s Palace stabbing skyward. Though these reach dizzying heights themselves, still higher is the distant finger of milky stone beyond them--the ancient Tower of Imrazor. By daylight, this courtyard is filled with a mix of soldiers and nobles, some talking quietly under the protection offered by the stoa, some standing in groups on the broad stairs as traffic passes round them, and still others merely walking hither or thither on some business. The Sun settles in Her bed as the Moon shines forth and brings the stars with Him...Evening lanterns are lit, bathing the land with pools of light.
Contents:
Imrahil
Obvious exits:
Halls of Healing
What dirge is there to alight the fabled halls of the citadel save the sielnt which is its testament? No song is sung as grim-faces enter the hall: Lords and Ladies all. Yet perhaps the most lordly of them all is Imrahil, the son of Adrahil.
Edging the great gathering of nobles, the Lady Chamberlain Gweneth, move slowly towards the Prince\'s position, making few disturbances of the somber crowd. Behind her, a pair of maidens follow, attempting to thread through the crowd as easily and for the most part, failing.
\"Ah, the Lady Bragollach,\" says Imrahil brushing off some dust from his cuff.
Lounging in the courtyard, an open book spread across his lap, the Lord Girithlin idly indulges in a moment of rest. Caught in the subtle warmth of a sunbeam, he sits comfortably upon the broad stone steps. As the Prince and his congregation approach, the Herald chances a look.
\"...and the Herald,\" he says looking at Thorondur. \"Are you prepared for departure? The horses have been picked? And stores?\"
Pausing in her greeting only to move to the side of a man with his eyes elsewhere than his path, Gweneth bows her head, \"My Prince,\" then raises her eyes back up to Imrahil and to the Herald, a questioning brow being raised but her voice sounds no question.
His fair face raised to the sun and the Prince, the Knight-Herald nods, and rises. \"All has been made ready, Your Grace,\" he says politely. The book is folded closed, and set aside.
Alysandra strolls along the plaza in the lamplit darkness, still new to her surroundings. She turns a corner and is face to face with this assembly. It stops her in her tracks and her mouth drops open for a moment before she closes it quite carefully and curtsies.
\"Now then Lady Gweneth,\" says Imrahil at length, \"mark this hour well, for upon it, the Lord Thorondur Girithlin, Herald of the Swan shall set forth upon a journey unknown to Men since the days of the Dragon-Helm.\" He then turns and nods to Thorondur, \"Then we shall wish you well, yet ere we do so, I bid one and all to come to the tombs, where we shall pay respects, to the fallen and hope that by their ubiquitous grace that you shall achieve success.\"
Gweneth looks over to the Lord Girithlin, \"Indeed? The hour has been marked, but I would ask if his quest is known or will it be known after he has completed this quest? For while my curosity is peaked, times are dark to speak aloud that which should remain a secret from those that would hinder any quest given by the Prince of Dol Armoth.\"
Thorondur remains silent throughout the words of praise his Prince showers upon him, and has the good grace to appear humble a mild smile comes easily to his lips. Yet at the mention of the catacombs, the Lord Girithlin speaks. \"As you would, Your Grace. It could do us no harm to offer prayer to Ulmo, as well, as we seek after a fashion for his brother.\"
\"Is it not so in the gregarious nature of the Lady Bragollach to know such secrets?\" asks Imrahil with an arch of the brow. \"Come now! All shall be made clear, for Thorondur goes upon the road of Earendil!\"
Then he turns to the Tower of that mighty kindred, those Knights of Amroth and he strides therein.
Alysandra remains silent, hands folded within the sweep of her cape as she watches and listens
Without a word of explanation for his own part, the Herald falls into step behind Imrahil.
You enter the Knights\' Tower.
Dol Amroth: Knights\' Tower - Hall of the Faithful(#30098RM)
The vaulted ceilings of this, the entrance hall to the Knights\' Tower, are picked out in glorious frescoes of the Ainur at play in the bliss of Valinor. Its eastern and western walls are columned with smooth pillars that reach to the arches above--buttresses that support the ceiling. In each of the alcoves formed by these columns there sits a statue--for this is the Hall of the Faithful of Numenor! Built to honour the heroes of the Men of Belfalas it was--and those heroes look upon it now from down through the ages in eternal stone.
At this hour, the great smokeless lamps suspended from the vaults above shed their flickering, unsteady light on the hall, casting shadows on the statues and of them. The windows, high above the buttresses, are dark and silent.
Contents:
Arnafel
Ivriniel
Thorondur
Imrahil
Obvious exits:
Spiral Stairs , Stone Stairs
\"Lady Gweneth,\" says Imrahil, \"Have seven servants hold aloft torches to bear light into the shrouded dark. And these lights shall stand for the Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar who have not forgotten the world without yet.\"
The soft footsteps of a woman can be heard, obviously hurrying through the alcoves of the Hall of Faithful. Quietly, Lady Ivriniel slips in among those with her kinsaman, a flush upon her delicate cheeks. Twinkling eyes look to him for a moment with an apology of sort in them before her head is bowed in respect. A slight turn of her head and her eyes cut to Lady Gweneth for a moment as silvery orbs glance her way, a look of distain, clearly upon her face.
The Chamberlain simply nods and turns away from the Prince to address the maidens following her step. The pair quickly disappear, gathering their skirts, out of the sight of the group. Turning back to the Prince, Gweneth replies, \"Despite that which I should know, it is spring and the duties of the yearly maintaining of your castle has caused me to sleep more during the days that people talk then I normally would.\" Catching sight of Ivriniel, Gweneth offers her a wide warm smile and a nod of her head, ignoring any look of disdain the woman casts.
Alysandra slips a hood from chestnut tresses and looks about in wonder at the hall of the Faithful that rises above her.
\"Thus we shall wait until all is ready,\" says Imrahil. He then turns to his sister and he speaks solemnly to her, \"Years have now passed since our father laid down his bones and there was interned among the graves of his fathers. Too long have we ignored it. By no mean way must we consider our mission to alone with good fortune upon the Girithlin, but also, to pay homage to our father.\" He glances at Gweneth, still waiting for the torch bearers, \"Spring may come and the walls have many soft stones, but I doubt not the ear of the Lady Gweneth or the sterness of her command.\"
Steepling his fingers--so slender as to seem almost elfin--together within the voluminous folds of his sleeves, Thorondur remains silent. No word passes his lips, and a look as grave as the tall statues that surround him settles upon his face. The conversation and appearances of various ladies have little impact on this one.
All about him is an air of studied serenity, which he wears as though it were the mantle of a king itself.
Gweneth smiles, as the maidens return with the torches, saying nothing to the statement. The torches are divided amoung a few Knights escorting part and are lit.
Alysandras gaze is captured by Imrahil as he speaks.
A serene smile, with perhaps a bit of devilment in the curve of soft pinks lips is seen as the personal guards of Ivriniel step proudly into place on either side of her. Glancing at first one, then the other, not a word is spoken as the sister of Imrahil nods her head at the words of her brother, \"I would agree brother, too long have we not paid homage to our rich heritage.\" The raven tresses of the woman shimmer in the light of the torches, illuminating the porcelain beauty of the sister of Finduilas.\"
Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Council Hall(#29776Rn)
The council hall of the Prince and Knights of Dol Amroth is long, ovoid, and many-pillared, nested in the heart-rock of the promontory of Dol Amroth itself. It is a great hall like the myriad others in the castle--save this subterranean hall is windowless. This is a hall of war planning and secrecy, and it is built with just that in mind. Lighting the room instead are dozens of lamps, designed specially to burn with as little smoke as possible.
In the center of this stone hall rests a circular table of polished stone. It is immediately recognizable that this is actually a map of Gondor, Rohan, and lands South, painstakingly crafted, colored to show grassland, stream, mountain, and sea in instantly recognizable detail. Surrounding this are many chairs, elegant and simple but comfortably functional. Every chair is the same, save one large one on the southern end of the room wrought for the Prince himself.
Contents:
Ivriniel
Thorondur
Imrahil
Obvious exits:
Down and Stone Stairs
Before the stairs that lead to the bowels of the foundation of Amroth there stand two guards. These bow and make way before the Prince. But there is one who comes forth and kneels saying, \"M\'lord!\"
\"Arise my servant,\" replies Imrahil, \"What would you have of your liege?\"
\"Strange tidings dread Prince!\" cries the man, \"A ghost walks abroad!\"
Pausing only as he passes around the circular table of knightly councils past, Thorondur Girithlin lets those slender fingers trail across the polished tabletop. North from Dol Amroth, and an unreadable look crosses his face. He lifts his hand before and can see where his fingertips took him... and turns, mild surprise writ clear in his eyes. They narrow, those sapphirine orbs, and Thorondur asks into the stunned quietude, \"A ghost? Would it were so.\"
A slight frown comes on Gweneth\'s lips as she looks on the excited man with doubt, but again her tongue is held from commenting and instead her eyes go to the room around the group, perhaps trying to confirm the man\'s report.
But Imrahil laughs and says, \"A ghost you say, come now, maybe you have spent too much time in that cess pool of lascivious lust: The Golden Kraken.\" He then pauses and murmurs, \"Long have I given thought to the laws my kinsman Denethor decreed in Minas Tirith.\"
But then another guardsman comes forth and says, \"If I may, I shall vouch for the good eyes of my cousin Trajan. Hadrian I am and have served the Lord Sirion the Younger ere his fall. Thrice now on three days in a journey of the week has the spirit come forth, and if my eyes do not fail me and if I remember well the verdant days of youth I would say the wraith of your father is abroad!\"
A blush colors Alysandra\'s cheeks at mention of the Inn, though she remains silent, listening with avid interest.
Thorondur\'s eyes remain narrowed in the look of a skeptic, though the hard lines of his face soften the cold beauty of that visage melts faintly, into a look of more casual interest, and less disbelief. Yet he says nothing, for the nonce.
Now Imrahil looks angered and he says, \"Do not make mockery of the dead or the spirits even if it were not my kin you will do me ill as well as those present by mentioning the spirits of the slain!\"
\"Nay m\'lord!\" cries out Trajan coming forth again, \"He marches again in the realm of the Living.\"
Then at last Imrahil says, \"Know I you well Hadrian, and were it any other man, I would lock him away until sounder counsels returned. Yet I shall have apace, for verily my dreams have been troubled. Did the ghost say aught to thee?\"
The soft rustle of satin sounds as Lady Ivriniel makes her way forth, her head bend in conversation with the elder knight that accompanies her. Black, well formed eyebrows raise in disbelief as the man falls to his knees in front of Imrahil. Holding her hand up to the knight, abruptly ending that conversation. \"A ghost indeed\", her words mock those spoken of some apparition seen. Indignation rises as her eyes flash, \"The wraith of Adrahil! Speak not such words.
Looking to the Lady now Trajan speaks, \"M\'lady. No mockery do I speak or wish to endow upon my sinews the curses of the unquiet dead. He spoke not but always appeared at this very hour to seek what we know not. For who may guess the designs of dead?\"
Hadrian then speaks, \"By my bones I quake in fear and verily even the mighty presence of my liege can not succour my fear or bring to me resolve more than I might in honour. Yet if you seek proof of the words of my kinsman, then you might descend down the guarded stairs and come to those places so ancient, that their foundation is just a rumour among Men.\"
Ivriniel looks to the man intently for a moment, silvery orbs staring into his and then she hisses out, \'Then lead us to this -apparation- of which you speak. Show us the truth of your words.\",
Thorondur is the first to step forward, boldly and without pretense. \"Verily, let us gaze upon this thing with our own eyes,\" he says, his clear voice light and melodious as a singer\'s, as fearless as a hero\'s of days long gone by.
Trajan then says, \"Though my kinsman has fear, I shall lead, for I must. My duty is to my lord.\"
Then Imrahil looks to his sister, \"Come. Let us follow him to the darkness and see what we might.\"
But Hadrian sniffs even as the company descends, \"There is something rotten in the State of Amroth.\"
Gweneth shakes her head slightly at Ivriniel\'s admonishment but remains quiet but her attention is drawn back to Thorondur and with a sigh, she follows the procession down into the ground.
Alysandra shudders in her boots as she thinks of a true ghost walking these
Dol Amroth: Catacombs(#14063RVMU)
You stand in one of the many high-ceilinged, valted chambers that lie beneath the Citadel, housing Dol Amroth\'s honored dead. Archways lead in virtually every direction, into shadowed nooks and crannies where only critters scamper. It would be easy to get lost in here, without a light...
The means of burial seems to have varied with time, but in this room you are surrounded by huge monolithic sarcophagi. Each one is embossed with a bronze bas-relief of the Knight it contains, lying in repose with his sword grasped in his hands and his helm on his breast. Looming over the entire scene, like a vigilant undertaker, is a statue of larger than normal proportion, scarcely visible in the light.
Contents:
Thorondur
Imrahil
Obvious exits:
Up
Alysandra chews upon her lips and looks about with anxious eyes.
Trajan leads the way with soft steps, and all follow, the seven torch-bearers holding aloft their seven torches flanking them. For verily they come unto the tombs of the dead and their grim visages are held within the casks of stone, laid in those long ages past by the heirs of Galador. Now Trajan pauses and says, \"Upon this very hour he alighted upon the stone and the guards were dismayed.\"
\"Why did none speak aught to me of this disturbance?\" asks the Prince with anger.
\"M\'lord,\" says Trajan, \"With your departure the Council was conducting other matters and to tell the Lady would have but to bring scorn: as if speaking a ghost tale to frighten proud maidens.\"
Pausing in his steps Imrahil, the Prince says, \"Thither is the tomb of my father. Oh Adrahil. What might disturb thy sleep and my dreams to bring trouble to the hearts of Men on their hour of setting forth?\"
He speaks thusly to the tomb, but there is no answer from the stone...
Gweneth\'s eyes tighten, either from the darkness or Trajan\'s words none can tell, but with the pursing of her lips following her squint, it is most likely the latter. She quickly dismisses the man as the Prince speaks to his father\'s tomb, her features softing at Imrahil\'s words.
Thorondur, for his part, extends a long arm to one of the torchbearers, and a flaming brand is given into his open hand. Now raising the torch before him, the Knight-Herald wonders aloud, in a whisper almost, \"Surely Your Grace does not give this tale credence? Do not the spirits of Men flee to Mandos as their Doom, and never return?\"
Showing no fear upon her countenance, Ivriniel moves down the steps of the vaulted chambers leading unto the tombs of the dead. Quietly she examines the room as the torch-bearers bring light to this ancient place. Suddenly, a loud sneeze sounds as the stirring of the visitors to this little visited place sends a cloud of dust into the air. Reaching into the deep pocket of her white satin gown the Princess brings forth a white lace hankerchief and delicately wipes her nose.
A snort of derision sounds as Trajan speaks of frightened young maidens, her words are less than pleasant as she says, first looking to those standing around and then back to the man, \"No frightened maidens appear to stand before ....\', her words drop off as she looks to Thorondur in surprise. \"You give credence to this tale of a wraith wandering the tombs?\"
Alysandra presses her fingers to her lips, eyes wide as she listens to the prince speak and looks about, fearing at anymoment some spectre will appear to answer him.
\"I would not Thorondur Girithlin,\" says Imrahil anxiously, \"If there were not so many portents of late. Did not the cock crow thrice in the evening ere the sun rose? Did not the oxes sweat from their yokes churning butter into curd with naught?\" Imrahil\'s face tightens, \"Yet even for all this, still my heart would be hard if this man were not Trajan Aurelion, of that house which has served me for so long and well. Yet as to your question, mark you well that Beren returned and also the curse of Isildur. If there is a purpose, then the DEAD may walk abroad.\"
Yet now, there seems to be a light, coming from the far wall of jagged stone, and then an apparition makes its way, a figure lit by the fire of his spirit. Those that may mark him know that figure as Adrahil, the last Prince of the Swan.
\"There!\" cries Trajan, \"If my eyes be not blind behold the very spectral visitation of thy late father!\"
\"I give credence to many things that to my fair lady are but bedtime tales,\" says Thorondur to the sister of Imrahil, his voice grave and not taunting, \"For these mine own eyes have seen.\" Yet now does he look to that same woman\'s Princely brother, and despite his lord\'s listing of portents does the Herald say, \"But mine eyes have ne\'er chanced upon--eh?\"
Thorondur Girithlin, Elf-Friend, Knight of the Palantiri, is struck speechless.
\"Oh by the heavens!\" cries Imrahil standing forth, his face ashen pale with fear and wonder, \"Not since the quest of the Mighty Stone...\" His voice lingers as he glances to Thorondur, \"He marches, but he speaks not!\"
\"Aye!\" cries Trajan, \"A ghost lost upon the mortal plain! Oh may the Valar deliver us!\"
Gweneth glances in the direction of Trajan\'s cry and blinks several times before fainting to the ground, her retainers catching her and lowering her to the ground.
The ghost turns and beckons to Imrahil and Ivriniel. Then at length he crooks a single shrivelled finger at Thorondur.
Alysandra cries out softly in fear and presses against the cold stone wall at her back, color leeched from her cheeks as she watches.
For his part, the Lord Girithlin says naught, only staring with eyes gone wide at the luminous apparition. When he is himself singled out by the ghostly presence, though, those blue eyes narrow and harden, and then--aye, then--does he speak at last.
\"What would thee, spirit,\" asks the Knight of the Palantiri, \"Why dost thou settle thy gaze upon me? Have I not suffered enough for the pleasure of Lorien, and Namo thy master?\"
Imrahil then cries pushing back his cape, \"Father! By what ill or torment do you return to your halls?\"
He then steps forth, \"Why beckon us? Can you not speak or is thy tongue so twisted by the curse of spirits that it shall not avail you! I bid you speak and loosen thy miseries so that brow may find rest at last!\"
\"He mouths as if to speak,\" cries Trajan, \"Yet naught but torment passes through those pale lips!
Then... a slow grinding word whispers over as the ghost nears Thorondur...
JUSTICE!
Alysandra lays her palms together over her mouth and nose in fright, emerald eyes wide. At the word from the dead the poor girl all but faints.
The slender fingers of Lady Ivriniel rush to her lips as a gasp of surprise sounds, the paleness of the woman\'s face closely matching that of her white satin gown. Sea grey eyes widen in disbelief as she takes in the ghost of her father. Unshed tears brighten her eyes as one hand reaches forth as if to somehow touch him, incredulous are the words she speaks, \"Father! What brings you forth? Now, at a time such as this?\" Stepping back one step, then many more as the ghost of her father nears Thorondur.
Imrahil looks amazed as his friend and herald and says, \"He nears you, but... Justice! Tell me oh spirit! What injury has been done to thee that thou seek redress?\"
Thorondur visibly strives to suppress a shiver, as if taken chill his face goes pale though the bravery there does not falter. It is as though all the world has gone cold--his lips a pale blue, his fair skin whitened ever further as the thing draws nearer. Yet he does not cower back, nor does he cringe.
\"Justice,\" echoes the knight, echoing father, echoing son. \"What justice?\"
The Ghost then cries out, \"Foul. Most foul. Five upon five the echoing steps that have dared to lay hands upon the tomb. Robbers most savage. Traitors most foul...\"
Alysandra trembling fingers lower from her stunned visage as she watches the noble dead, her lips mouthing the word, \"robbers?\"
\"Not men of Amroth, surely?\" The disbelief in Thorondur\'s voice is clear--yet he speaks of this news, these robbers--and not the ghost. That apparition he has accepted, it seems.
\"In days past I was laid to rest interred with the sweet blessings of Ulmo. Years have passed thus as I passed through the spiritual plane only to be recalled by FOUL, foul desecration!\" echoes the ghost, his voice a throaty gasp throughout the tomb.
Alysandra shudders and presses back again at the emotion in the poor wraith\'s voice.
\"Now forever must I walk, a spirit doomed unless justice is done,\" gasps the Spirit in agony. The figure holds up his hands and now it is clear his arms are covered in spiked chains, \"Foul....\"
Thorondur stands before the ghost, the question looming large in his eyes. There is no need for words. \'What wouldst thou have of me?\' There can be no doubt that thought haunts him as surely as the spirit before him, even here as he bends his mind upon it.
\"The Girithlin must go... he must go...\" he whispers. \"Go the path of thy name. Open my tomb and behold. Then bring doom to the Darkbow and find, that which is lost.\"
Alysandras eyes widen at the sight of the chains and realization of the spirit\'s pain. What heart could be unmoved by such, and so the emerald eyes of the girl fill with tears.
\"The path... of my name?\" The words puzzle the knight his look is perplexed. Raising his hands, upturned as if in supplication, he beseches the apparition of Adrahil for answers. \"You speak in riddles! There is no path of the Girithlins I know not what this \'Darkbow\' is!\"
\"Thoron... Thoron... thou art chosen for my son,\" says the Ghost, and then he vanishes....
Alysandra gasps as the vision vanishes and seeks it in every shadow.
And with the ghost\'s evaporation, its fading, when it steps sideways to the world and slips away, it is as if all strength has left the Knight of the Stones. Thorondur falls to his knees, collapsing, his keen gaze going glazed an outhrust arm is all that saves him from falling fully to his stomach.
\"By the Seven,\" he curses, \"I feel so... cold....\"
Imrahil stands there for a moment amazed as silence seems to fill the chamber. He then glances keenly at Thorondur for a moment before he steps forward and traces his fingers over the tomb of his father...
Alysandra unclasps her cloak and, unbidden, moves to the man, laying it about his shoulders, still warm from her own body.
As if on a cue from the dead, Lady Gweneth is roused from her slumber, slowly sitting up from the cradle of the arms of her servants. She blinks around at the scene, obviously lost in confusion as she looks on the pair of Thorondur and Imrahil, each lost in his own thoughts of the dead.
Then suddenly, the Prince pushes open the lid of the sarcophagus of Adrahil. It crashes to the ground making a vast cloud of smoke appear.
Soon it settles and then... the tomb is empty with only a single black feather within!
Alysandra jumps with a soft cry at the noise.
Near collapsed on the hard stone floor, shivering despite the cloak now laid upon his back, the Lord Girithlin is silent for a long, long while. But when he speaks, it is no noble speech, no clarion call to action. Nay. In the pregnant hush of dust and dismay found in the aftermath of Imrahil\'s action, the sound from Thorondur\'s lips is a strange one: The muffled weeping of a sob. \"Lothiriel,\" whispers he, fairly choking. \"My Princess, I never asked for aught of this....\"
Alysandra steps back, leaving her cloak about Thorondur, moving back to the wall.
As quickly as a whisper, the ghost of Adrahil disappears without a trace, leaving Ivriniel, daughter lost in thought. Unaware of Thorondur falling to the floor, her distant gaze stares, sight unseen at the tome of her father. Not seeing the hand of Imrahil as he pushes back the lid of the until it crashes to the floor with a loud sound, with that, she is brought from her reverie with a start.
Startled by the form of Thorondur laying prone on the ground she glides forth to see if the Lord is perhaps injured, when the sound of his weeping stills her footsteps. Softly doth she speak to the Lord Girithlin, \"Rise Thorondur.Face what has been put upon your shoulders with the honour befitting one of your station.\"
\"The honour of my station?\" The words gather in, and rush out like the winds of the encroaching storm. Rising, Thorondur turns to face his liege and the lady, his distant kin, the children of Adrahil to whom he owes fealty. And his eyes burn blue fire, and anger, and injustice, and a strident desire for it all to end--but of none of this does he speak. Only does the knight reply to them, \"Then let it be done. The die has been cast. I will ride forth again, as Lathoren knew that I must.\"
Imrahil nods grimly and then offers the feather to Thorondur, \"Take this, the only thing in the tomb of my father. Go forth for what you seek and bring to me the bones of my father.\"
Alysandra shudders to think of anyone bold enough to steal away the bones of a King.
\"I will find your bones,\" says the Knight, \"and I will find my peace, if the One is willing. Bold knights will I choose to accompany me let Calladan of Telamarth come.\" And now a small smile does steal across his face. \"The last time, he rode beside me, and we both did return. Perhaps there is something in it.\"
Imrahil nods grimly, \"You speak gravely. Choose your companions well and now what greater ordination can thous\'t have?\"
The Lord Girithlin meets the look of his prince with a bold gaze of his own, and answers as the warmth and serenity returns to him, \"Only the blessing of her who shall never bless me again.\" The words are not easy, that much is clear in his eyes--yet he says them, and says them without hesitance.
Imrahil nods and sighs, \"Go with good fortune Lord Girithlin. As for myself, I shall remain here by the tomb of my father to adress. For you, give thought of redress.\"
A serene smile once again rests upon the lips of Lady Ivriniel as Thorondur stands, the fire of his quest, burning from blue eyes. Her hand reaches forth to touch the nobleman on his arm with a softly spoken, \"Fare thee well Girithlin, as you seek to right this wrong. Songs will be sung and this quest written in the tomes of history that line the walls of the library.\" Sighing at the mention of Lothiriel, she says naught of her niece to the man.
\"And may the stars shine upon thee, even here,\" returns the Herald. And with a slow and graceful bow bow, he pays his last respect to the Prince, and turns, and is gone.
Alysandra remains silent, witness to great things and hearing words of great deeds. Only in her dreams has she been in such company.
Gweneth glances around at the departing people and comments to herself, \"I think I have some windows that need to be cleaned...\" Then turns and goes back up the stairs.
*note - log provided by Gweneth*