(Archive) Imrahil\'s Chambers

Elendor - Tuesday, December 28, 1999, 11:38 PM

Imrahil\'s Chambers

An expansive room furnished largely in red-stained hardwoods, this chamber is carpeted in a soft, rich midnight blue that dampens even the heaviest of footfalls. The walls are filled with evenly spaced wooden bannisters every three feet or so, which support a mantle ten feet high that circles the room. Upon the mantel stand various trophies of war and peace--here the curved sword of a Haradrim Lord, there a painting of exquisite detail. Central to the arrangement is a lebethron desk set before a fireplace, massive and carved in patterns of leaf-and-vinework. Behind the desk is a large, leather-cushioned chair, and two smaller but equally comfortable ones sit before it.

Wide windows with a southern exposure punctuate the walls to either side of the fireplace, and their curtains of blue velvet are drawn back to allow the light of day to light the chamber brightly. An old, weathered map of northwestern Endor is on the east wall, and bookcases between the bannisters and as high as the mantel line the western, broken only by a door that leads to the Prince\'s private chambers.

Contents:

Melethron

Imrahil

Obvious exits:

Out

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Weather: Cloudy

Time: Dawn

Season: Spring

Date: Sunday - March 5, 3019

Real Time: Tue Dec 28 21:43:37 1999

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Deep and calm, the still night folds the chamber in its embrace -- one of silence and peace such that it seems a place distant from the world below. And through the high windows, the Stars of Elbereth glitter akin to gems with a beauty beyond the ken of Mortal Men. And there is that in the air -- perhaps in the murmuring of the waves, or the cry of the gull -- which speaks of the coming of Spring, and of Arda being made new again.

Yet, there is no darkness here -- for while the Marble Citadel slumbers upon its lofty perch, the one here does not. A single torch set nigh the great table casts a circle of flickering light around it, and seated thither is a lordly man with many parchments before him -- there too are kept platters of meats and wine, yet they seem untouched and unheeded.

Soft footsteps echo faintly up the steps and through several rooms as Lady Aearwen makes her way through the citadel in the quiet of the late night. A burning candle is held aloft in her right hand, the flames sending eerie patterns on the white hewn stone of the walls. Jumping as a guard rounds the corner, her hand goes to her mouth to stifle a scream. Laughing softly to herself she pauses at the entrance to the noble wing of the citadel, her lips moving as she rehearses her thoughts before one hand goes up to knock softly on the door.

Soft though it may be, the night traps the faint sound and sends it forth again, the echoes lingering for long moments in the corridors of hewn and polished stone ere fading. And inside the chamber, the faint scratching of quill upon parchment ceases not even for a moment.

But a voice, low and clear speaks from within, \"Enter.\"

Reaching for the knob on the door, Aearwen turns in and pushes at the heavy door, the creak of the hinge loud in the silence of the night. The candlelight flickers from the movement of the door opening, cupping her hand around the flame she walks on into the room.

Glancing around the room in a quick perusal her eyes return to the figure seated at the desk and her first words are apologetic in nature, \"Good eve, your highness. Forgive me for the lateness of this visit.\"

A gust of wind, playful and merry as a child, sweeps through the open door, taking up parchments and then setting them down again -- and the torch gutters, its flame dying to mere sparks ere springing up again.

For a brief moment longer the scratching of the quill can be heard -- and it ceases then, and the one at the desk looks up, and the circlet upon his brow burns with a pale fire. With arched brow he regards the woman then, \"Lady Aearwen! Greetings.\"

Uncertainty clearly evident on her face as the scratching of the quill continues for a moment, Aearwen breathes a small sigh of relief at the greeting from the Prince. Stepping a few steps closer to the desk, but not close enough to view the documents on which he works she smiles a warm smile, \"Working late, are you not? Is the work of the ruler of Dol Amroth ever truly put to rest for the evening? Or do you oft dream of the problems of ruling such a large and glorious fief?\"

Suddenly aware of her lack of decorum, Aearwen quickly curtsies, her head nodding respectfully, \"Your highness.\" Standing there quietly as she awaits an offer of a chair or to be sent on her way, her eyes rest on the face of the Prince of Dol Amroth, a smile of fondness curving her lips.

\"Late? I fear duty cares little for hours, lady. As my longfathers have done, thus I do.\" and a swift smile fleets across the Prince\'s face. A moment\'s pause then, for he stoops to pick up a parchment fallen to the floor.

But he gives no sign to the woman to seat herself, and when he speaks again his words are curt, if not harshly said, \"But what matter is it that brings you hence at this hour, lady?\"

Not intimidated by the harshness of the man\'s words, having heard this tone of voice oft times since her arrival to this fair city, Aearwen smiles a bit before her words are spoken, sea blue eyes steady in their gaze into the silvery ones of the man before her. \"Forgive me for the lateness of the hour, your highness. Sleep was not to be had at this hour and I had hoped to have a word with you.\"

Setting down the candlestick she brought into the chamber, she reaches into the pocket of her gown and pulls out a small piece of parchment, the rustling of paper seemingly very loud as one is aware of the trembling of her fingers. \"However, I can leave this note with you it this time is inapproriate.\"

With thoughtful and measured gaze, the Lord of Belfalas regards Aearwen, and in his grey eyes dance yellow flames -- indeed, the image of the torch would seem to lend an even brighter sheen to them.

And with a faint sigh, he sets aside the quill and motions the woman to a chair, \"Nay lady. If you have come, then I would hear what you would say to me ere turning you away.\"

Her footsteps sink into the plushness of the midnight blue carpet as Aearwen moves to take a seat in the offered chair. Settling herself comfortably, quickly smoothing the lines of her gown, an unconscious feminine action, she once again turns her gaze to the Prince. An air of sadness creeps into her expression, her voice tinged with sorrow as she finally speaks.

\"My mind has been whirling with thought since our last private conversation in the Tower of Imrazor.\" Offering an apology by way of the expression in her eyes and the tone of her voice, \"The fate of Lothiriel has kept me awake many nights, wondering if there were some sort of alternative to be found.\" Dropping her eyes to the list for a quick glance and then back up, \"Perhaps this a futile effort, but I have a proposal for the healing halls. That is, if you, are interested in hearing more.I know this is a painful subject for you and I do regret bringing more pain to your already full heart.\"

Lothiriel...the name echoes and lingers, and it does not fade -- ever greater it seems to grow in power, until it fills the chamber akin to a silent cry, a plea for succour. Surely, there are none in the Citadel who could not be awakened by it!

And in that instant, a shadow passes over the Prince\'s face, and the fire of the gem upon his brow dies to a dull gleam. For long moments -- moments which grow heavy and fraught with peril -- he looks upon Aearwen with darkened eyes. But in the end, the knock sounds, and he stirs -- but never does his gaze stray from the woman, \"Enter.\"

\"You bade me script a review of your legions, and I have it now. Though I seemed to have forgotten the hour lest I would not have come as I have.\" Those eyes, ever keen, look about the room only to fall upon the other within it\'s confines, for then the face and meanor of the Lady Ethring-Bragollach is taken in, \"Lady Aearwen,\" the voice comes yet again, tinted with a sadness buried deep.

Greetings past, now the young man turns once more towards his liege lord and steps forward, placing a sealed document with the sigel of the Knight-Captain stamped in crimson wax.

Horrified by the echo of Lothiriel\'s name filling the chamber with such a poignant plea. Aearwen draws back in her chair, fingers clutching the arms tightly as if to escape the maelstrom she awakened in the Prince.

The knock on the door sounds softly, aware of the sound somewhere in the dimness of her mind, her gaze locked with the man seated across from her. The voice of the Swan Knight, brings a small gasp of surprise from her lips, a sudden expulsion of air as her eyes cut to the tall form of Melethron.

And yet, the Prince does not turn, and he pays no heed to the tall Dunadan or his words -- ever darker his eyes grow, now akin to the roiling seas when they are held fast in the grip of raging storms.

But as the woman gasps -- a faint sound, barely heard -- the spell is broken, and his gaze flies to Melethron, sharp and swift, \"Leave it thither. And Lord-Captain...stay yet a while. I might have need of you in this.\"

But no more of this is said as he turns to close the door behind him, only to slowly turn once more to face the Prince. If one were listening they might hear the muffled steps of the door wardens to Imrahil\'s chamber as they make way down the hall to the entrance for the royal wing itself rather than resting just out of thier master\'s chambers.

Only momentarily do her eyes rest on the Swan Knight before they rivet back to the dark, raging eyes of the Prince. The muscle of her jaw can be seen twitching as her lips thin to a narrow line, but standing her ground she finally breaks the silence between herself and the Prince.

\"I beg your forgiveness, for continuing to pursue this conversation, your Highness.\" The crimson of her cheeks flames brightly at the boldness of her words, knowing full well the censure she is going to bring upon herself by these actions, but somewhere in the depths of her being she finds the courage to face the raging storm of emotion in the form of Imrahil.

Verily, there are many things that have been tried for the Princess, but my ears have heard of a new herb, found only along the edges of the forest. Truthfully, very rare to find, but I have hopes of this offering hope to your beloved daughter. With your permission, I would send men in search of this herb, called Deadman\'s Bells. Or if you like, I would offer to accompany them in the effort to locate this plant.\" Her voice breaks with emotion as she continues, \"Your highness, this herb is said to have the ability to bring someone back almost from the brink of death.\"

\"Deadman\'s Bells...\", and sudden and startling in the stilness, the Prince casts back his head and laughs. Bitter and clear his laughter rings -- and there is no mirth in it, \"A fitting name for this herb indeed you have brought to me, lady!\"

And as swiftly as it had come, his laughter fades, and he turns to the Lord of Linhir, \"The Steward has summoned me to Minas Tirith, and I fear there shall be dark tidings thither. How stand the Knights for...\"

\"And as the last word is spoken, it would seem that the shadows rush forth from the corners of the room to enshroud the three in their dark embrace, \"...war?\"

But there is more to these words than a simple backing up the hopes of the Prince, for the Knight-Captain continues on now, \"But to speak in the light of truth my Lord there are those that long for it, mainly the ones who have even now worn their spurs for little more than a winters past, also there are those who would rather remain in the comfort of your city for their bones have seen one to many battles, and they begin to think of their passing, some not truly looking forward to finding death upon a the feilds of battle as they once did in their youth. But should the call go out, Prince Imrahil, I have no doubt within my mind that they will come as quickly as their mounts will carry them.\"

Then he stops, and with this the room grows quiet yet again, but now there rest a dread in the air where before there was but emptiness.

An incredulous expression quickly moves to replace the worry that had strained the lines of Aearwen\'s face. Her mouth drops open for a moment before her composure slips back into place at the bitter laugh that rips from the depths of a father, wrought with worry for his only daughter.Pity would be an apt word to try and describe the expression in the sea blue eyes as they rest on Imrahil.

Quickly slipping the parchment back into her pocket, her eyes stray to Melethron, able to watch him unawares as he and Imrahil talk. At the mention of war she sits forward, listening with a dark looking marring her brow.

\"They fall into the gravest folly, those who wish for strife to gain fame. And those who desire to stay by home and hearth -- they are little to be blamed. But I fear their hopes will be be for naught, for the Shadow of the East stretches its hand forth to Gondor again, and we must hew it off -- or perish!\" and wearily now the Prince speaks, and the fierceness in him is gone, faded into the night.

An he rises then, and strides to the windows, and the gem upon his brow bursts into sudden radiance.

And the shadows flee.

\"Lady, come to me on the morrow -- and ready yourself for a journey. Lord-Captain, send the squires Erindur and Durandir to me with the Lady Aearwen.\" And a pause then as he stands thither, gazing upon the sea, ere speaking again, \"Leave me now.\"

Rising from her chair with reluctance, Aearwen pauses a moment to pick up the candlestick that is still burning brightly where she placed it. The flame illuminates her face, the strain of these nights conversation definitely taking a toll as the weariness drops into place. Walking quietly across the plush carpet, following Melethron out the door, the soft rustle of her satin dress the last sound noticeable in the room ere the closing of the door behind her.

ll as the weariness drops into place. Walking quietly across the plush carpet, following Melethron out the door, the soft rustle of her satin dress the last sound noticeable in the room ere the closing of the door behind her.