(Archive) A Cloak of Despair

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Tower of Imrazor, Pinnacle Level

Hoary years press down here at the acme of Imrazor\'s ancient tower, its stone walls curving up to a perfect point barely a dozen feet above. Smooth flawlessness surrounds you, but there is a faint sense of brittleness to the walls--perhaps of bones stretching thin. The rounded chamber is mostly empty, save for a broad, pointed window set to the north, and a barred lebethron door westward. A stair spirals down to the lower levels of this ancient tower, tucked against the southern wall.

Daylight pours in through the window to the north, striking the walls and coruscating through the chamber with a brilliance unequaled even by the white stone outside for here there is a subtly different texture to the rock, filled as it is with a myriad of shining, crystalline flecks sparkling like new-fallen snow.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

A jewel amidst the clouds, a haven in the skies, a refuge from an Arda now held in the grasp of Mortal Men -- the pinnacle of the Tower of Imrazor sparkles atop its slender marble column, built in the deeps of time by the craftsmen of mighty Numenor the Fallen. And the bright rays of the sun shine through the great windows to paint all the glittering colours of the rainbow upon the walls

-- akin to the heart of a gem, this place seems.

And a vast silence hangs over it, and not even the crashing of the waves far below intrudes -- save for a single gull wheeling around the tower, it\'s lonely cries, clear and desolate. A man sits here --alone and in a seat of stone turned to the West, a figure that cannot be seen with ease for the bright light that falls upon him.

Soft footsteps can be heard coming up the spiral stairs, a faint tapping of leather on each step, obviously a woman by the lightness of the step. Reaching the top, Lady Aearwen pauses, eyes squinting in the sunlight as she looks for the figure of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

Finally do her eyes rest on the familiar form of Imrahil, alone upon this pinnacle. Quiet pervades the place, save for the cries of the gull overhead, an almost eerie silence as she walks closer to the man and speaks, \"Forgive me for intruding upon your meditation Your Highness. You wished to see me?\" Dropping to a respectful curtsey as she awaits his words, hands folded in front of her.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"Indeed\". And yet, the figure does not turn -- the Prince of Dol Amroth -- for his gaze is intent upon the West, as if he would pierce the very mists that lie heavily upon the Sundering Seas, and see that which lies beyond, forbidden for all time to Mortal Man.

And slowly, he motions to another seat placed by his, \"Take your ease, lady.\"

Surprised into silence by the actions of the Prince, Aearwen takes the offered seat, smoothing the lines of her skirt in a nervous action. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as her breathing increases, long dark lashes flutter closed for a second as she inhales and slowly exhales. Focusing on the movement of the sea birds she remains in silence, the sun shining brightly upon her auburn hair.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Thus they remain, and long moments pass in silence -- a heavy silence, and even though the chamber lies in the heart of the fastness of Dol Amroth, stronghold of the Numenoreans, there seems to be a brooding danger in it.

Of a sudden the Prince stirs, looking to the woman for the first time -- and yet, his visage is veiled from sight, for the light shines behind him, \"What know you of...the sickness that has come upon my daughter?\"

A soft breeze blows off the sea, stirring wisps of hair across the brow of the woman as she enjoys the silence, the smell of the salt air sweetly refreshing. The hands in her lap gently unfold as relaxation finally takes over the form of Aearwen.

When the words of the Prince are spoken, her fingers delay response as they reach up to ease the errant curls back into place. Blue eyes turn to gaze at the man, a concerned man inquiring about his daughter and finally she speaks, unable to see his own eyes for the sun, but knowing he can see the clarity of her own looking into his face, \"Rumours of her sickness reached me before I departed from Rohan, your highness.\" A frown of concentration mars her forehead as she responds clearly, \"Busy with the tournament, I personally have only seen Lothiriel twice since my return. And it saddens me to say this, but the young woman I knew well before my journey is a much changed person.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Now in the end, he turns fully, and the light falls upon his face, and he is revealed. Drawn and grim, weary and with shadowed eyes -- and above all, a strange sterness. And his tone is flat and curt, and it reveals naught, \"The Lady Lothiriel...my daughter...\"

And here, in the end, it would seem he falters. The Prince of Dol Amroth, mighty among Men, unsure of himself -- can it be?\"

\"...she is dying.\"

@A soft gasp slips from Aearwen\'s lips, her head shakes vehemently as her eyes pool with unshed tears, \"NO! No, it cannot be! \" Leaning closer to the Prince, at the moment only seeing the drawn, grim figure of a father, her face almost in his face, \"Who spoke those words to you? Has she been seen by a healer?\" Drawing in a long deep breath as one tear streaks down her face, the head of the woman bows as her words still.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"The greatest healers in this land and beyond have come to the Marble Citadel, and none can find a cure for what ails her, for they say that never have they seen such a sickness of the mind and body ere this\".

And without pause or flinch Imrahil speaks -- for here is one who has faced the darkest shades of despair commanded by the Shadow of the East.

And overcome them.

Silence again looms between the figures seated there in the Tower of Imrazor. The auburn haired woman watches as another tear slips from her face and spots the velvet of her dress. Focusing on that wet teardrop, her finger touches it with a look of amazement on her face...anything to retreat from the truth of this moment.

Softly she does inquire of the man seated beside her, the question one of bold nature, \"And you? How say you, your highness? Nay, I want words from your heart as her father. Do you believe what they say to be true or do you hold hope, somewhere in the depths of your being?\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"It is the truth\", and the stark words seem those of the Voice of the Prophecy of Doom even though they be spoken by a Man.And now, the faintest hint of bitterness swirls in his tone, so fleeting that

it might well be a passing fancy, \"Her life is but a token to be paid as

weregild for the dark deeds of another. Thus is her fate woven in the Song of Arda.\"

Cool are the words of Aearwen as she finally brings words to her tongue, \"The truth? You would call an ancient time, fate? Resigning yourself to that notion instead of continuing to believe there is hope for her recovery?\" Incredulous eyes peer into Imrahil\'s as she searches for the truth. \"You of all people, have given up hope?\" Her hand reaches out, without thought and rests softly on the arm of the man, \"It pains me to see you without hope, forgive me for the boldness of these words, but my concern is heartfelt.\"

Mind whirling with sudden questions, Aearwen suddenly changes courses in her conversation, \"Did the healers use Balsamon in their treatment of Lothiriel? As not only a dried herb but as a fresh leave one made into tea?\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"Hope remains, lady\", and wearily now the Prince speaks, \"when the truth of what is to come is yet veiled in the mists of time. But when it lies revealed as if under the light of the noon-day sun -- then hope is known to be the truth, and it rejoices.\"

\"Or it is known to be but a falsehood, and it withers and dies.\"

And he passes a hand over his eyes ere straightening and drawing back, father no more but Prince, cloaked in an air of calm, thin though it may be, \"Yea, they have tried that and many other things. They have all failed.\"

Drawing in a ragged breath and expelling it quickly as the Prince

finishes speaking, again, the silence looms in the brightess of this place, sun bouncing off the white stones in a blinding fashion. \"Forgive me for such boldness again, your highness. But when did you first notice a change in Lothiriel? When I last saw her, she was so pleasant and sweet.\" Smiling in fond remembrance, \"A tea we had and girl talk, about fathers, marriage and life under the dark shadow.\" Her voice trails off softly as her eyes fill with puzzlement, \"Why did you summon me here today?\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"A few weeks past\", and the Prince waves a hand, dismissing the matter, \"it is of little import.\" The words of the Lady of Ethring-Bragollach seem to go unheeded then, for he makes no reply to her -- and even though his gaze rests upon her, it is distant, and it loos beyond her.

But of a sudden, it sharpens, and a hope terrible in it\'s fierceness flares high in his grey eyes, \"Lady, you have travelled far indeed in this past year over the lands of the West, and it is for this reason that I have summoned you hither! Have you heard aught of any herb or the like which even our healers do not know of?\"

A nostalgic smile curves the woman\'s lips as her own eyes grow distant, lost in memories of the recent past, her travels over the many lands. A tenderness, evident in the tone of her voice, \"This very conversation reminds me much of the one I had with King Theoden.\" She laughs softly as she continues, \"Standing on the tower of the castle and he inquired if I had any knowledge to ease the plague on his body.\" Sadly her head shakes in denial, \"but no words of hope could I offer him.\"

Reaching into the bag that was hidden from view by the volumious width of her skirts, Aearwen pulls out an ancient heavy tome. Her fingers trail over the words on the leather cover, reverently caressing the book as she says, \"This was given to me before I left

Rohan, a gift from my Rohirrim sister healers.\" Carefully opening the book, gently tracing down one parchment page, a finger points to the drawing and instructions there, \"Each page is filled with a drawing of the herb, its location and many uses, a wealth of information is contained here, your highness.\" Thoughtful eyes gaze through the window as both of her hands rest on the open pages before she turns to the Prince once more, \"Hope is not a thing to be given lightly, and truthfully, I hesitate to speak one word to give you false hope. But yet, I cannot give up hope, until the last breath has been drawn.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

And the hope dies a bitter death in Imrahil\'s eyes, leaving behind naught but the dull shine of sunlight falling upon them, \"The lore of the healers of Rohan has failed them in this lady, even though they have striven with all their heart. And yet, I thank you for your gift, for it was given with true faith.\"

The shoulders of the noble woman slump in despair, her pale neck rises as her head leans back against the chair, eyes staring blankly at the dappling of sunlight playing across the ceiling. Soft fingers gently trace the parchment pages, still open on her lap and suddenly she leans forward, \"Wait! Have you given any thought of allowing her to travel? When last I spoke to her.....\", the words trail off as Aearwen\'s eyes widen in alarm. \"To speak of thus would betray my promise to Lothiriel\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"No matter\", and even though the shadow of dark despair looms large over him, it is held at bay for the moment -- and he smiles faintly, his tone gentle, \"Go now and leave me, lady. But know that you have done all that you could, and I hank you for it.\"

And he turns again to the West, veiled in sunlight -- the figure of a Lord of Numenor the Glorious from ancient days, come to the shores of Arda over the seas and through the mists of time -- Imrahil the Fair, son of Adrahil.

Rising from her seat beside the now silent Prince of Dol Amroth, the woman stands there in the brilliant sunlight, the full cloak of nobility once again surrounding the man she had visions of during this personal conversation. Many fleeting emotions flicker over her face, and with no thought except that of one heart to another she places her hand on the shoulder of Imrahil, briefly, a fleeting touch, much as that of a mother to a child, a healer to a an injuried person....the sincerity of caring. Turning quietly she leaves the brilliance of the Tower and descents the stairway.

r to a child, a healer to a an injuried person....the sincerity of caring. Turning quietly she leaves the brilliance of the Tower and descents the stairway.