(Archive) The Madness of Indilzar Bragollach

Elendor - Sunday, January 16, 2000, 12:00 AM

*Log begins with Rp in progress*

Sinking into the second of the chairs, Rorgan offers, \"There is no time to be a cripple in the Forest, my lady.\" And the word \'Forest\' -- spoken with such reverance and care -- takes on a life of its own within the sentence. The former tailor smiles, \"The guild was conspiring to oust me, so I resigned before my term as Guildmaster ended in disgrace. I serve my Steward now with only my blade and my wits.\"

Reaching across the table, Aearwen rests her hand softly on the arm of her friend as her words are soft, reverant, full of joy, \"The Forest. Ah.\" A light of understanding dawns in her tired eyes as she smiles, \"That brings a smile of joy to my weary heart.\" The look in her eyes dims to one of bitterness as she goes on to say, \"Rumours of many things concerning the guild reached my ears and I wondered what the outcome of it all had been.\" Drawing her eyes back to the present she inquires, \"How fare\'s life in the forest? Do you find yourself missing those of us stuck in...\", words dropping off to a whisper as she leaves that sentence unfinished.

\"I have missed all of my friends, but none of my enemies,\" it is a bare answer, nearly flat in tone. Yet again the smile returns to Rorgan\'s face, though, and he asks, \"How have you fared? I am kept, but kept well enough.\" Then sobriety sets in again, \"I am pleased enough with who I am for now.\"

Nodding her head in understanding, silence grows between the two friends as each measures the weight of his words. Aearwen tilts her head to one side, gazing at the new expression on the man across from her and liking the change she sees. A bittersweet smile curves her lips as she whispers, \"Friends are good to miss....enemies, well, enemies I wish to see at the bottom of the Bay of Belfalas.\" a fierce growl issues from her throat at those words

Her delicate shoulder shrugs almost indifferently as she speaks of her own happiness, \"Tis a fair statement to say that I have not fared well since last we spoke outside on the long bridge in Dol Amroth. And tis only fair to say that most of it has been brough upon by my own indecision and choices.\"

A simple nod from Rorgan is more than enough to convey the unspoken \'I told you so\' that passes between the pair before he asks, \"Have you taken steps to remedy this malady, my lady?\"

Lightly do the long slender fingers of the woman drum upon the table, irritation flaring briefly across her face as she snaps out sharply, \"There tis no remedy to be taken.\" Immediately the flush of embarassment stains her delicate cheeks, \"Forgive me for the harshness of my words. Many things have passed that are unknown to you and tis painful to speak of such.\"

\"Painful as it may be, unspoken it shall remain. Yet the fact remains that if one is not true to oneself, one can only expect to reap a life filled with pain,\" again it is the flat serious voice that replies from the former tailor. This time the smile does not come back too soon, \"All lecturing aside, lady Aearwen, I find your friendship a boon in any season.\" Then comes the smile, \"Should not friends long parted share in a drink and happy recollections instead of this sorrowful seriousness?\"

A nostalgic expression holds on the lovely face of Aearwen as the sincere words of Rorgan speak to her heart. Reaching once again across the table her hand grasps his and squeezes, swallowing with great difficulty before her chosen words are spoken. \"True to oneself can oft bring misery upon life as well Rorgan. Tis a painful realization to have the dawning of understanding face me with bright clarity and know that I cannot bring more heartache to someone that is steadfast and true.\"

Rising quickly from her chair, one hand gently wiping one lone tear from her cheek, she walks to a table and reaches for two old chipped mugs. Laughing a bit as she slips out a bottom of the finest Dol Amroth wine from beneath the table she returns with a smile on her face, \"Let us toast to friendship and the strength that holds us together. And the fond remembrance of happier times.\"

\"And to happier times to come,\" Rorgan adds, raising the mug he has been offered.

Tipping up her mug, Aearwen partakes of a tiny sip of the wine, tilting her head back as the cool fluid slips down her throat. Closing her eyes for a moment as she wills herself to hold back the flood of emotion ripping through her. Speaking once more, with her eyes closed she inquires with a odd tilt to her lips, \"For some reason, the memory of that night in Hero\'s came rushing back to me.\" Laughing to herself as she opens her eyes to the man across from her, \"All of that food and wine you bought and had sent to my table and I was so furious.\" Giggling now as she shakes her head, \"Tis one of my favorite memories, that and you hissing at me in Osgiliath during the siege there.\"

Turning quickly as two new men enter the healers tents, Aearwen jumps from her seat, almost knocking over her cup of wine as she places it on the table. Calling the other healers into action, they quickly encircle the men and begin to assess the injuries on their persons.

Another two men come in - this time bearing a stretcher. Upon it lays a doughty Knight of Dol Amroth, blood dripping from the stretcher\'s fabric. No moan nor motion comes from the knight and his face is pallid and ashen, his lips frozen blue. They quickly set him on a table and return to the scene of the battle to aid more as they may.

Seated beside the healer, lowering a worn and chipped mug from his lips, is the former tailor, Rorgan. The tall man seems unaware of the battle-gore covering his mottled brown and green clothes and the now-drying spots of blood and flesh clinging to his close-cropped blonde hair. Even as his companion rises from her seat, Rorgan does likewise, instincts trained to razor-sharp perfection placing one hand on his sword hilt and one on the dagger at his waist. The moment of tense awareness passes from the man almost without notice, even by himself, and he nods toward the first pair of men from Dol Amroth, murmering the name of the one familiar to him, \"Maernus...\"

Then the former tailors feet are carrying him toward the tent flap, \"I should not have delayed you so, Lady Aearwen. Please forgive me. I shall return on the morrow, after I have seen to my companions.\" And he is gone as abruptly as he arrived at the tents of the healers, dissappearing into the night like the ghost many had long thought him to be.

Speaking without turning her attention from the man before her, Aearwen nods her head in response to Rorgan, \"Tis nice to see you again. We shall have to speak of those memories when time allows us the chance.\"

ARRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

The great Hound Huan lets loose his cry as the riders come to triage!

Imrahil has arrived.

Indilzar has arrived.

Gweneth kicks the side of the steed, pulling up beside Indilzar, \"Surely he did not fall in this battle? No Southron blade could be weilded with the skill to touch his flesh, could it?\"

Gweneth warily glances at the wolf-hound, replying, \"Should we seek the healers tent? He would be first to be pulled off the field of battle if injured.\"

Tall even among the Dunedain of Gondor, clad in glittering mail and with silver circlet upon his brow, Imrahil the Fair strides through the great gates to the East, and around him are many Knights, weary and worn by battle and wound.

And swiftly he makes his way through the press -- a path opening for him -- and he seems ever to be seeking someone.

A tight smile splits the lips of Aearwen as she acknowledges the squire Maernus, quickly noting the wound to his side she dispatchs an assistant to see to him. Speaking softly she says, \"My assistant shall attend to your injury.\", pausing for a moment she lowers her voice and inquires softly, for his ears only, \"Are your other injuries ....healed?\" Inquisitive eyes quickly rove over his form before she turns to the knight on the stretcher.

Gasping softly as her eyes fall upon the form of Calimacil, Aearwen has him placed on the closest bed and moves to his side. Softly speaking, more to herself, than to him as she cuts his clothing from his body with a tiny knife, \"Dear me, tis a fine mess you are in my ....\" her words cut off sharply at the sound of Indilzar ring out loudly. Turning sharply, her expression is incredulous as they blink in surprise at the appearance of the long lost Bragollach House Lord.

Gweneth follows Indilzar\'s arm with her head, turning to gaze at Imrahil, a knowing smile touching her lips, \"Indeed, a foolish thing to think of his fall at the hands of Umbar.\" She turns her face to Indilzar, waiting for his mount to move to the Prince first.

Clad in robes of alabaster, a man draws nigh the Prince, beckoned by him -- in low tones they speak, and none can hear what passes between them. And inclining his head to the leech, Imrahil makes his way then to Calimacil\'s side, heedless of all others.

Indilzar leaps off his steed and with a click his shining boots find the paved way and say, \"Come Sister. I would have speech with him!\"

Gweneth dismounts with a slow grace. She adjusts the sleeves to her shirt, then follows at the slow, unhurried pace of a lady.

Maernus watches as the prince and Indilzar pass, the man at arms next to him preventing his attempt to bow to the two. He states out to Aearwen, \"Yes, Lady Aearwen.\" He groans a bit as the healer assistant seeing to his wounds pulls his cloak and shirt off the gash in his side. He whispers to that healer, \"I\'ve probably broken a rib, haven\'t I?\"

Indilzar strides past and then tries to make his way toward the prince saying to his sister, \"A bloody day for Pelargir.\"

Gweneth nods, gazing at the carnage, \"The horrors of men always impress me.\"

Returning to the man laying before her, Aearwen tenderly examines the many wounds covering his body. Fine pieces of white linen she places on the massive wound on his chest, vainly trying to staunch the flow of blood. Quickly her fingers turn crimson, leaning over his body, she applies the full force of her slender body as she growls at him, \"Hang on Calimacil, not in Pelargir shall you meet your end. Let us get you back to Dol Amroth and under the care of the Master healer.\"

Indilzar glances back at Gweneth and says, \"It sorrows me.\" He pulls his dark cape about him as he now comes within a furlong of the Prince.

Long he stands thither before the fallen Knight, and there is pity in the Prince\'s gaze -- and slowly he stoops to lay a hand marked with blood upon Calimacil\'s shoulder, \"The Crimson Knight, I name you for the blood you have shed this day in my defence!\"

And turning, his eyes, weary and shadowed, chance upon the Lord of the Bragollach and his sister. Startlement, brief and sudden, fleets across his face then, even as he awaits them.

Gweneth gives Indilzar a grim face in return, \"For many weeks I imagined the similar horrors had taken you. We will have word on your skills with letters at some length after this.\"

Indilzar strides forward and drawing out his pale blade he lays it at the feet of Imrahil and he kneels heedless of aught else. He is silent.

Gweneth too, lowers to a kneeling position, not wearing her gowns of norm.

Maernus watches the procedings of the nobles and is brought over to a chair by two people. The healer assisant noding to him, \"Yes, you most likely have.\" Maernus procedes to grimace and watch the nobles procede.

Cloak billowing in the wind, surcoat and mail rent with wound and stained by blood, a fell figure he seems against the sky -- a sky darkened by gathering dusk.

To Gweneth he inclines his head and motions to her to rise, yet his gaze, stern and grim, is ever upon Indilzar, \"Gondor burnt, and the Knights of the Swan rode into peril and death. Whither was Indilzar of the Bragollach?\"

Ignoring the commotion in the room, Aearwen\'s full attention is given to the man laying before her. Slowly peeling back the many layers of blood soaked linen, her concerned eyes lay upon the full magnitude of his injury for the first time. The gaping, open hole in his chest, still slightly weeping with blood, the pulsing of flesh quivering in the light of the lantern. Sighing deeply her fingers run along the lines of flesh, checking to see if there is enough flesh to stitch and sadly shaking her head to discover there is none available.

Quiet for a moment as her eyes rest on the massive hole, she finally nods her head in answer to the question running through her mind and moves into action. Walking quickly to a bag in the corner of the tent, wiping her blood soaked hands on a rag as she retrieves an odd pouch and walks back to Calimacil. Dipping out a tincture of dried herbs, she slowly runs a trail of the crushed powder along the entire wound, slowly, methodically does she cover the quivering flesh as she works.

He then says in sorrow, \"Yet I have done ill in this matter and now I give myself to you humbly and my estate and my titles, for though the slander of the Rohirrim had did me wrong, I knew that my rage took me better.\"

Gweneth stands quiet before the Prince, her eyes not moving to her brother or his words of humility.

\"Your pride led you astray, Lord Indilzar. It may be that the Men of Rohan spoke wrongly of you -- and yet in your wrath, you forsook the land you had sworn to serve...and your brethren and liege lord!\"

Cold and stern the Prince seems, yet weary beyond the ken of men, and there is grief in his gaze as it sweeps over the bodies of the slain, and the docks ravaged by fire, \"Look upon the wrack and ruin wrought here, and know that you have failed in this.\"

And he turns now -- yet ere striding away, softly he speaks, such that none save the Knight can hear him, \"What price your oath now, Indilzar Bragollach?\"

And he is gone into the gathering darkness.

Indilzar rises and then weeps kicking his sword away from him.

Indilzar reaches into his belt and draws out a bitter knife.

The words of Indilzar break through the extreme concentration of Lady Aearwen as she works to save the life of the Crimson Knight. Raising sea blue eyes to gaze upon her cousin and his seemingly sincere words she pauses in her task for only a moment, a brief smile upon her face before she quietly continues to administer to Calimacil. The paleness of his face matching the white sheet upon which he is laid as she calls for a special blend of fluids to be drizzled into his mouth with a tiny silver spoon. Lightly dabbing at the corners of his mouth as some of the fluid spills upon his face, she allows the wound in his chest to remain uncovered, save the herbs she applied while she constantly rechecks the flow of blood from it.

Indilzar kneels upon the ground and looks at the knife and laughs as if one who is fey, \"Gweneth.\"

Gweneth kneels beside her brother, her hands wraping themselves gently around his wrists, \"Yes, my blood?\"

Indilzar takes the knife and violently thrusts it toward his stomach, \"Farewell Gweneth! You shall find my heir in Minas Tirith!\"

Gweneth tightens her hold around Indilzar, at once breaking into tears, \"I love you, my brother, sleep well,\" she sobs quietly.

The scream of Lady Aearwen splits the quiet of the healers tent as Indilzar moves to plunge the knife into his stomach. \"NO! NO! No Indilzar, by the valar, no!\"

Then with a howl the great hound HUAN, leaps forth and grabs the hand of Indilzar in this jaws and yanks the arm down. Indilzar screams!

Maernus stands as he sees the knife the knight brings out and stands quickly, nearly knocking over his chair He tries to rasp out towards that knight, \"Lord Indilzar, don\'t....\" He man at arms next him trying to stop him from saying more and he sighs as the hound huan stops Indilzar.

The great hound HUAN licks the wounds on the wrist...

Gweneth pulls Indilzar softly against her breast, softly petting the hair from his face, sniffing, \"A blessing from the valar perhaps,\" gazing at the hound in a surreal disbelief.

Then the great hound HUAN, gazes west and lets loose a howl into the sunset.