(Archive) The Throne Room

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Throne Room

A cavernous room of icy marble yawns about you. The ceiling seems impossibly high--though the chamber\'s width is not exceptional--supported at regular lengths by thin spindles of smooth, undecorated stone. Indeed, the only color in the room itself is a slash of porphyry that runs arrow-straight westward to a set of steps that radiate outward from a tall dais, upon which rests the Marble Throne itself. Light floods the Throne Room from a bank of massive windows set into the western wall behind Imrahil\'s Throne. The central of these directly behind the throne is easily thrice the height of a man and four times his width and grants a vision of fog-shrouded cliffs leading down to the vastness of the Belegaer, with the distant finger of Tirith Aear thrusting up before it some distance to the west.

Flanking the central window are thin ribbons of glass, all in pointed stone arches of their own that descend, each on a level with one of the steps of the dais, so that the central window and its point stand highest. Seemingly the only concession to real ornamentation in this room comes in the form of ornately carved stars placed at the top of each of the windows\' arches--seven stars in all, for the ancient house of Elendil the tall.

Contents: Maeghan

Obvious exits: Marble Doors

[Imrahil(#29017)] A chamber of ice and fire, moonlight and ruby rays, stark simplicity and beauty made greater by it -- the Throne Room of Dol Amroth. Cast in marble of the purest alabaster, and within it like jewels are set the nobles of the Realm this day, clad in rich raiment and glittering gems. And through the great window set behind the Marble Throne, the wrathful skies can be seen, the dark clouds lit by the crimson rays of the sun and streaks of lightning -- and through the creeping mist, the roiling, restless sea.

Upon his lofty seat sits a man clad in regal panopaly of war -- taller than any other here, and bearing a silver circlet upon his brow. The Prince of Dol Amroth.

The doors of the Throne room are opened quietly, not hesitating as she strides into the room is Lady Aearwen of Ethring-Bragollach. Pausing for only a moment as she speaks softly to the assistant with her, the words spoken cannot be heard, but the assistant stops at the doors as Aearwen makes her way across the massive room.

Smiling as her eyes alight on the form of the Prince of Dol Amroth seated on his throne, Aearwen drops to a respectful curtsy as she says, \"Tis a pleasure to once again gaze upon your face My lord, too much time has passed since we last spoke.\" Head respectly bowing with her words.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Not too awfully long after the quiet entrance of the Lady Aearwen, both doors are thrown open. Into the hall stride two men clad in the Isilrim livery. The taller bows and says, \"May we present...\", the second bows and then straightens, announcing, \"The Lady Maeghan Arclaft Isilrim, Steward of the House Isilrim and Master Healer of Gondor...\"

After a moment, into the room glides a figure that can only be described as striking. The light of the sun catches upon the miriad of small rubies that sparkle within the net of gold that retains most of her thick firey curls, they give her hair a deeper tone and texture, emphasizing the unique color of her locks. As she walks, the luxuriant forest green velvet skirt sways about her.

Pausing the maid gazes upon the Prince and then curtsies low. The blood red ruby nestled against the magnolia white of her throat shines with an almost inner light as it catches the rays of the sun. She straightens and says nothing, maintaining only a faint smile as she awaits recognition to speak.

[Imrahil(#29017)] Voices die into silence, their last echoes lingering beneath the high vaulted ceiling, and all in this place turn to look upon the twain who come before the Prince -- foremost among them, Imrahil son of Adrahil. And those around him draw back, so that none are left before his thron save the two women. With warm regard his gaze settles upon them, and he smiles even as he motions to Aearwen to rise,

\"So...the Lady of the Ethring-Bragollach and the Lady of the Isilrim return to the Marble Citadel after long days! And after great deeds, for I have heard much of what came to pass in the Land of the Horse-Lords!\"

Aearwen rises and her eyes gaze at the face of Imrahil for a moment before she says, \"If I may be so bold as to say, you look well rested since I saw you last.\" Turning as the entrance of Lady Maeghan is made into the throne room, Aearwen grins impishly at her and then wipes the smile from her face, but twinkling eyes turn once more to Imrahil. Many tales of Rohan await your ears, my liege, both good and grievous news does need to be told of our trip to The Mark. Her blue eyes soften as she continues, \"Many thanks do I give to you for allowing me this sir, My Lord\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] A faintly amused smile twitches upon the lips of the Lady Maeghan as she recalls the words spoken by the Lord Steward reguarding the deeds within the land of the Riders. She remarks, \"It is good that my Lord thinks such, for we strove to honor our relations with Rohan and rid their land of the foul beasts which plagued them, afore the Wargs dared venture into Gondor...many died, but many triumphed and in the end their lair was destroyed...\", her voice takes on a ringing tone as she exclaims, \"it was a GLORIOUS mixing of brave warriors from three cultures fighting to defeat the enemy...I was proud to assist where I could.\"

For a moment, the girl that Maeghan once was shows through as she states with clear excitement, \"I met a Beorning and received the blessing of the Bear! And I got to speak with a bear, it was thrilling!\", Soon though, the girlish grin is replaced with a more mature smile as she says, \"But as interesting as it was, I am glad to be returned home and finally able to wed my betrothed with the approval of my family...\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] Voices rise in startlement among those who stand nigh, and the Prince looks upon Maeghan with arched brow, \"Beorning? Speech with a bear? These are strange tidings indeed!\" And to Aearwen he turns then, \"Nay, lady -- for I have heard of the troubles in that land, and indeed, it is I who thank you!\" Leaning back now, he claps his hands, and two retainers clad in the livery of Dol Amroth come forth bearing carven chairs. These they set on the step below the throne, and motions to them, \"Come now, seat yourselves and take your ease, for I would know more of these matters.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Nearly clapping with delight that she really *has* experienced something quite rare, Maeghan nods her thanks for the chair, quietly murmering a polite Thank you for the aides that seat her, \"Oh my Lord Prince....it was...exciting, Koribeorne is so very very tall, but her hair is ruddy like mine...she is well spoken, though knows little of what goes on in our country...she is so very interesting to speak with...I...was hoping that perhaps I might invite her to our tournament, I would so love to have her here for my wedding...\"

The maid clasps her hands against her chest and asks beseechingly, yet quite politely, \"Please? I could get word to her relatively quickly...she returned to Minas Tirith with us if I am not much mistaken...\", she glances at Aearwen and smiles faintly before looking back to his Highness the Prince Imrahil.

The laughter of Aearwen tinkles out like that of a silver bell ringing as the Prince speaks of the Beornings. \"There are so many strange and wonderful tales to be told, tis almost a task as to where to begin. But alas, the reason for my being in Rohan, was the death of the Lord of Forensvale.

Quietly waiting as the chairs are placed below the throne, Aearwen moves to take a seat, smoothing down her skirt as she turns to listen to Maeghan speak of Koribeorne. A smile curves her lips as she watches the woman\'s excitement in telling the tale of the amazing ability of their new found friend from the North. She nods her head in response to Maeghan\'s last words, \"She did arrive in Minas Tirith and is coming to the tournament, but she is concerned about too many knowing of her special ability.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] With keen gaze and furrowed brow the Prince regards the two before him as they speak -- and now, the weariness marking his face and the shadowed eyes can be hid from sight no longer. And in thoughtful silence he stays thus as a page bears a silver goblet and wine to the women. In the end, he stirs, \"We will talk of the matter of the beasts of the Dark One, but ere that, I would know more of this Koribeorne. Of what folk is she that she comes hither to the tourney, and what ability lies within her power that you speak of thus?\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Glancing at Aearwen, Maeghan says softly, \"My Lord...what do you know of the Beornings? I had studied some of them in the ancient texts when I was young, but did not know overly much of them because they can be quite secretive...\", she pauses and then continues, \"Koribeorne is one of the proud Beornings that guard the passes and roads near Mirkwood and in other areas, keeping them safe for the free peoples to travel upon...they are the enemy of the Dark One and followers of The Bear....\", she swallows and then rises and dares to walk to the throne and whisper something to the Prince, \"They change into bears...indeed I have seen it with my own eyes....they are a truely powerful and noble race...\", blushing she takes her seat and apologizes, \"I am sorry for my audacity in approaching, but they wish that ability to remain somewhat of a secret so I did not wish to announce it....they are also a very private people...\"

Shaking her head at the offer of wine, Aearwen issues a simple, \'No thank you\", to those that offer it. Folding her hands in her lap as relaxation creeps into her stance, her eyes once again gaze at the Prince, concern as she notices the weariness marking his face and eyes. Soft words begin to tell the tale of Koribeorne, at least from her experience of the woman.

Our party did meet with this very tall woman in Forensvale. Her demeanor was one of shy reserve, due to her strange reason for being there first of all and secondly, for her lack of exposure to civiliation and those that would hunt her down once they are aware of her unusual ability to change into the shape of a bear. Her race is from the North and much in danger as many do not understand them and fear what they do not know.

[Rorgan(#19834)] Quietly do the doors part, and a tall man with greying blonde hair enters the throne room on quiet feet. As he walks, he leans heavily upon an ornate cane, and the only sound of his progress is the faint tap that stick makes at each step. It is Rorgan, the Guildmaster of Tailors from Minas Tirith, making his slow way into the chamber -- thus far unannounced. Whether out of politeness for the conversation already in progress, or for whatever other reasons, the man still does not speak as he draws nearer, stopping a good distance away from where the three speak.

[Imrahil(#29017)] Startlement etched upon his visage, the Prince rises, \"Here are strange tidings indeed!\" And he bends his gaze then upon Maeghan, keen and sharp, \"No other will learn of this matter, lady -- but I will have speech with the one you speak of when she comes hither!\" \"But come...now the other matter. I would know in full what came to pass in Rohan and of the fell beasts which plagued the land.\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] As the familiar tap echos within the hall, Maeghan turns, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile, the light of the newly lit torches glittering against the gems and gold in her hair. She cries out softly, \"Rorgan!\", and stretches out a hand towards her intended. It is clear that the maid is quite heedless of anyone else at the moment, her emerald eyes focused tenderly upon the older man. Unable to wait till he approaches her, she rises and goes to him with a warm smile and a soft whisper.

[<#29549>] Maeghan smiles warmly and murmers, \"..., ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......... ... ... that ... ... to ... ... ... of ......... ... I ... wish to be ... ... ......... ... ...?\"

[Rorgan(#19834)] The tailor returns the smile of the maid, his intended, and, reaching out a hand, Rorgan speaks softly to her, \"Always will you be welcome at my side, my love.\" Then a small chuckle comes from the man, \"I thought I would find you here, but I think I\'m getting old and my ears are playing tricks on me. Did I hear you say that Lady Koribeorne could change into a bear? When did you find this out? Did she let you see?\" Obviously the man is filled with questions which could not wait, but still, he takes pause to offer a bow to the Prince and to ask, \'\'My Prince, might there be yet another seat for a tired old cripple such as myself? Perhaps I will be able to assist in the details of that tale you would hear.\" Then he is again speaking softly to his beloved, shaking his head, \"I have not seen nor heard of your Uncle Sirion since we arrived, Maeg. When am I to make the presentation of Gruthroth\'s head, coat, and collar?\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] With a soft snort, Maeghan says merely, \"Whenever we see him, for I will not have him hiding from you, just so you can\'t present the pelt and collar, thus preventing us from being wed...\", apparently she does not have much confidence in her Uncle\'

[Imrahil(#29017)] His gaze intent upon Aearwen, it would seem the coming of the Guildmaster will go unheeded by the Prince -- until the Lady Maeghan leaves her seat, and Rorgan speaks. Turning then to him, Imrahil inclines his head gravely, and his voice rings in the vast chamber, \"Rorgan of Minas Tirith! I bid you welcome to the Marble Citadel with honour, for the tidings of your deeds are borne upon the wind! And this I say to you -- a wound gained in the service of Gondor is naught to be ashamed of.\" Swiftly, even as the Prince speaks, a third char carved in lebethron is brought forth and set beside the others -- the Guildmaster will not stand wearily while the others take their ease.

[Maeghan(#29549)] With a soft snort, Maeghan says merely, \"Whenever we see him, for I will not have him hiding from you, just so you can\'t present the pelt and collar, thus preventing us from being wed...\", apparently she does not have much confidence in her Uncle\'s willingness to let her get married to the tailor no matter what trophies were brought back...\", as Rorgan is seated, the Lady Maeghan kneels at his side, her gown forming a pool of deep green about her.

Aearwen returns the steady gaze of the Prince and just as her lips part to continue the story, another arrival is made into the Throne room. Laughing to herself, a small shake of her head as Lady Maeghan does greet her beloved, Aearwen patiently awakes for Rorgan to have a seat. Nodding her head in greeting to the tailor, a warm smile does she give her friend as he taps his way forward. Turning back to The Prince her voice has an edge of teasing as she inquires, \'Where exactly would you like us to begin my liege?\"

[<#19834>] \"He ... there, beloved, ... .... ... ... the ... ... his name, ... ... I thought, ... ... ... ... ... ...,\" Rorgan smiles, \"... ... ... given ... to ... ..., ... ... thought ... ... ... would ... ... better.\" And still does the tailor smile as he speaks to her again, \"Let ... not ... ... ... ... uncle. ... ... should make ... ... to ... ... ... -- after all, ... was ... ... ... vengeance ... ....\" With a nod in reply to the kind words from the Prince, Rorgan begins to move toward his seat, still locked in quiet conversation with his beloved, \"... ... ... ask, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... each day, but ... day ... ... ... ... ..., and ... ... need of ... ... first.\" Then he sits, the exchange with Maeghan ended with, \'\'My Prince, I fear my manners are lacking of the grace to properly thank you for your hospitality and for your patience with our lengthy whispering.\'\' He smiles, though, from his seat and then looks down again at Maeghan, \"... ... of ... shall ... ... ... ... ... ... wait, ... love. ... should ... ... ... ... ... on ... ... ....\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] \"It is of no import -- courtesy oft is cast aside and forgotten in matters such as these...and I do not blame you for it!\" and the Prince speaks not unkindly, a swift smile fleeting across his face ere he turns to Aearwen. \"Begin whither you will, lady, for it is your tale to tell as you will.\"

[Rorgan(#19834)] And the voice of Rorgan does raise to an audible level again, \"Though I would also be remiss if I were to accept fully your compliment. It was in the service of my kin, the Rohirrim, that I did receive the wound that has hobbled me.\" He smiles softly to Maeghan in response to one of her own, and does finally turn toward Aearwen and greet her with a smile and a nod for her own, falling silent so that the tale may be told.

[Imrahil(#29017)] His gaze yet on the Envoy, the Prince leans back, his arms upon the great marble arm-rests of the throne and the two globes which are set thither -- the Palantir, for those who retain enough of the lore of Numenor of old to know them as such, \"Nay, not so -- for the folk of Rohan are as kinsmen and brothers to the people of Gondor, and to aid them is to serve this land!\" Borgilas steps in from the hall beyond, a porter shutting the doors silently behind him. Borgilas has arrived.

\"Upon our arrival in Edoras, King Theoden was not feeling well enough to greet our party. However, he did grant me a private audience as your envoy. Pleasant was the hours I spent in the compay of the gracious King of the Mark, his ill health is obvious as he now uses his golden sword as a walking cane.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes grow distant as her words continue, \"Many kind words did he speak of you My Lord and of the ancient oath of Eorl. Before I left his side, he sent a reminder that his forces were yours to call if needed in our battle against evil.\" Her brows raise as she adds one last comment, \"My sadness was great as he remarked on his failing health. He noted that healers from far and wide had not been able to cure him of his malady, even asked if perhaps I was aware of anything to cure his ill health.\" Pausing as she gives ther others a time to speak. <

[Maeghan(#29549)] Muttering softly under her breath, Maeghan says, \"If only the Lord Steward considered them such, life would be much more pleasant...\", she sighs softly and looks downcast for a moment considering the berating she received earlier and then cheers up a bit as she casts her gaze towards her friend Aearwen, listening to the Lady\'s tale...

[<#19834>] The tailor answers with a mute nod and a smile covers his face at the words of the Prince. He then returns his attention to Aearwen, only to glance down again when Maeghan speaks quietly. His reply to her is soft, though, \"... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... way, ... love, and his ... may ... ... ....\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Maeghan only utters a soft snort of doubt at Rorgan\'s words

[Thorondur(#13821)] Heedless of the guards, who lower their pikes, preparing to stop him--and in sudden recognition, halt at the same moment he waves a hand in nonchalant dismissal--a young man in clad in the accoutrements of travel. Fine accoutrements, at that, all sueded leather and fine woolens for all their damp, stains, and earthen hues. Approaching the throne with a casual pace, the young man moves with a grace born not of courtly manners but... natural fluidity. On his smudged, wind-chapped face is a wry, rogueish smile. <

[Imrahil(#29017)] And now, the Prince pays heed to none other, and he speaks no word until his Envoy has said all she will. But then -- a faint murmur from all gathered hither -- a murmur which seems ever to grow, until the the lofty ceiling rings with their echoes. And a single name can be heard, repeated again, and yet again.

\"Thorondur of the Girithlin!\" And now Imrahil turns away from Aearwen, and his gaze comes to rest upon the one who comes before him -- but alone among all the folk, there is no startlement upon his face. A faint smile, swift and fleeting, and he waits then in grave silence for the other to draw nigh.

[Borgilas(#22134)] Behind the travel-stained youth--at a considerably slower pace--comes another figure, this one decked in martial finery and making his way slowly--and quite noisily, with the clicking of the cane he bears resounding on the stone.

[Rorgan(#19834)] The tailor makes a small gesture toward Aearwen, and a nod accompanies it: rather obviously a signal for her to continue this part of the tale. But at the sound of another entrance to the throne room, Rorgan\'s eyes do turn toward the man, giving him a thorough glance before he returns his attention to the Prince, and the pronouncement of the crowd again draws his attention to that man, and the caned noble entering in his wake.

[Sirion(#10108)] The doors to the throne room are opened by two servants. In walks the old Lord Isilrim himself! Behind him walks men of his house as they slowly come down the midmost causeway - all are grim and seemingly ready to sing a funeral dirge. At length Sirion comes to the spot that custom dictates and he bows, crossing his hands over his chest.

[Thorondur(#13821)] The smile upon the face of the young Lord Girithlin can only be called rakish, now, growing subtly as the rumours of his name come hither and thither around him like the breaking of faraway waves. Still, there is more than a touch of irony in his glee, as if he tires of the recognition-- Doffing his pointed green cap, Thorondur finishes his parting of the crowd to stand before Imrahil\'s throne.

With a bow too plain for the flamboyance the assemblage must expect, he makes a deep and proper obeisance, not yet rising until the Prince will give him leave.

A frown of irritation clearly marks the face of Lady Aearwen as yet another interruption mars the conversation in the throne room. Cool blue eyes rake over the forms of the new newest arrivals, both strangers to her eyes as the fingers of one hand tap lightly on the edge of her chair. Sighing deeply, she leans back in her chair, a soft mutter, barely audible slips from her soft lips.

Sirion steps to the side among the other Lords: Tarlang and Suinhir, Telpekhor and Belegazor. He says naught to him as he takes off his black gloves and hands them to a servant.

[Imrahil(#29017)] With a gaze that reveals little, the Son of Adrahil gazes long upon Thorondur -- and in the end, startling and sudden, he laughs, \"So -- The Lord Thorondur comes again to fair Belfalas by the sea, when none had looked for him! Rise, my thane!\" And he looks then to the aged Lord of Isilrim, and inclines his head in silent greeting -- yet saying naught to him, but his eyes linger on the grim folk of Isilrim.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Her rapt attention upon Rorgan is broken as new arrivals make their entrance. Maeghan turns her head and nods from where she is at Rorgan\'

Thorondur lifts his eyes, then--piercing and radiant sapphirine orbs--and his gaze in this moment is for Imrahil, his liege and no other. Dark hair flowing, damp and tangled, in a mop atop his head, he runs a fair-skinned hand through the mess to straighten it as he speaks.

His voice, clear and melodic, carries in the grand vaultings of the marbled hall. \"I am here, Highness,\" the Girithlin begins, glancing like the Prince toward Sirion and saying, \"And so it would seem we are all met again in glad company. Has it been ten years?\"

Borgilas clears his throat after this pronouncement, and says, just loudly enough to be heard. \"Returned, aye...but whence? And why now, when sore trials are past?\" The voice is less malicious than it is gently mocking...

[Sirion(#10108)] The Lord Isilrim and his retainers say nothing, their grim faces ever stoic and froward. Yet the Lord Sirion, as is ever his custom, keeps his hand upon the hilt of the great sword Inalantadil, given back to him from the late fall of Arnafel his kinsman.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Her rapt attention upon Rorgan is broken as new arrivals make their entrance. Maeghan turns her head and nods from where she is at Rorgan\'s knee. She smiles faintly upon her Uncle but then turns her attention back to Rorgan and the Prince, without saying a word. Clearly she is struggling with something internally as her jaw clenches slightly, but still..not a word does she say. No few moments pass before her face relaxes into his usual pleasant expression. One hand gently smooths the skirt of forest green that is pooled on the floor about her slender figure.

[Imrahil(#29017)] \"Ten years, yea...but they would seem longer far, for much has come to pass in that time...\", and for a brief moment, the Prince\'s gaze grows distant -- indeed, it would seem that he sees not the ones before him, but others who will come to the Halls of the Marble Citadel no longer. And sharp and keen then, he glances to Borgilas with arched brow, \"And what say you to him, Lord Thorondur?\"

[Thorondur(#13821)] With a glance toward Borgilas, Thorondur\'s sapphirine gaze turns icy and cold. Chill. The very air between young man and old seems to grow thin with menace... And then, with merry frivolity, the Lord Girithlin laughs. Oh, such laughter! Like the chiming of faraway, distant bells, the fair young knight merely looks back to the Prince with a shrug of his slender shoulders! \"I would say, to him, Highness,\" Thorondur hazards, \"That only the faint of heart will cast that same aspersion on the brave.\" And with that, he winks. Winks! At Prince Imrahil! The cheek.

[Borgilas(#22134)] Cutting through the laughter are the sharp words of Bragollach. \"And yet, Highness,\" he pauses faintly, the words echoing on the cold stone, \"We have no answer...\"

[Sirion(#10108)] If the facial expression of Sirion may say aught, it would say as much as the grim Argonath. His body is stiff and no frivolity or smile is on his lips - indeed, does this man ever laugh?

[Rorgan(#19834)] Taking in all of who has just arrived, Rorgan twists in the chair that had been set out for him in the presence of the Prince and motions to one of the two same-liveried Silver Guardsmen who arrived with him, and had hung back a bit from the gathering before Imrahil. The gesture is rather elaborate, and the man nods and turns, making his way back through the crowd to silently exit the room. With this little bit done, Rorgan returns his attention to Maeghan with a smile, and speaks to her softly...

[<#19834>] Rorgan +whispers to Maeghan, \"... ... ... after the ... head, ..., ... ....\"

[Thorondur(#13821)] \"Perhaps for that the question does not deserve one,\" quips Thorondur in reply, his tongue as quick as his wits--or quicker. The smile on his lips never fails to grow, becoming a broad, cheery grin.

[Maeghan(#29549)] With a roll of her emerald eyes, the young Lady of the Isilrim sighs and looks entirely exasperated at this display of what she apparently thinks is arrogant immaturity. She looks up at Rorgan and nods, her expression turning serious. She rises to her knees and whispers a reply.

[<#29549>] Maeghan +whispers to Rorgan, \"Indeed, ... ... ... ..., and ... the ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ......\"

Sirion crosses his arms over his chest and looks on with much focus. Suddenly, he yawns. Sirion turns pale for a moment and then clears his throat. He toys with the star-ring on his finger.

Sitting quietly as she watches the newcomers with little interest, cool eyes flicking back and forth as they speak of days of old. Barely supressing a yawn behind one dainty hand, Lady Aeawen struggles to hide her weariness and admittedly, boredom.

Sirion pages: how ironic is that!

Thorondur says, \"Man, you guys write some rather similar poses.\"

Long distance to Sirion: Aearwen dies laughing, \"I almost lost it!

[Rorgan(#19834)] Shaking his head and rolling his own eyes at the exchange, Rorgan, too, begins to drift away from the traded gibes, and he nods in response to Maeghan\'s quiet words to him. Remaining silent, now, he simply taps his cane upon his leg and waits.

[Imrahil(#29017)] A spark of mirth which flares high in his grey eyes -- and yet, no hint of it reaches his voice, and the Prince speaks as he ever does...calm, and with an air of command few may withstand, \"You have ever dared much, Lord Thorondur. But you have ever been faithful to me in all matters. But this I say to you, valour is not merely that of battle, and Lord Borgilas has served me even as you have!\" And then, to Sirion he turns, \"But come now -- what is it that troubles you, Lord of the Isilrim? For you seem grim and dour indeed in an hour such as this!\"

Borgilas arches his eyebrow, but steps back from the exchange. He eyes Thorondur as the Prince speaks, not with anger or malice, but with calculation.

[Sirion(#10108)] Stepping forward the stony faced Sirion Isilrim replies, \"M\'lord, grim face is born with a grim heart. Loath I was to once again take Inalantadil to my hand when I had sired heirs and younger kin of braver heart. Yet not since those days of old when I first entered your service and I went upon the quest of Eridanus did the heart of my men turn so much with fondness upon those bright days when my valiant son trained the ignoble Xabre and jarny.\" He steps forward and says, \"Idle words are fair enough, but my house is in peril!\"

[Thorondur(#13821)] \"Oh, I am certain he has, that,\" Thorondur agrees, nodding once to the Prince before shifting his attention briefly to Lord Borgilas of Bragollach. \"Though I did not think we had gone so far as to name him Knight-Inquisitor. Ah well,\" he says, drawing the words out--feigning a yawn, as they\'re all the rage, with mocking incisiveness--and finishing, \"I will know to avoid... eh?\" Perhaps he knows whereof Sirion speaks, for his own face pales, and now the Lord Girithlin breathes a soft question: \"Does the Rohir keep the heirs?\" A threat is not hidden nor implied, but perilous clear in the words.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Rising, the firey haired maid goes to Sirion and curtsies low. Smiling warmly she says softly, \"My Uncle...it is good to see you again...I have indeed missed you...\" Maeghan straightens and then makes a wide gesture, declaring loudly to all, \"I have an announcement...\", she takes a deep breath and then looks back to Sirion, \"My beloved Uncle, Rorgan has a presentation to make...\", after a moments pause she addresses Imrahil, \"I apologize my Lord Prince if I spoke out of turn, but....I am quite eager for this presentation to take place now...if it may?\"

Borgilas smirks faintly at the young man\'s impudence, and watches Sirion with only half his attention.

Her voice suddenly ringing out loudly in the massive throne room, Aearwen says with indignation clear in every spoken word. \"Is it the custom here in Dol Amroth to interrupt a conversation with no word of apology or acknowledge that there was one on entrance to a room? And even more, is it customary to not introduce one\'s self to those that are strangers to your face?\"

Shaking her head as blue eyes flash with anger, \"Perhaps I have been in the wilds of civilization far too long in the last 18 months, but I do seem to recall more protocol and decorum\"

[Rorgan(#19834)] These words of the elder Isilrim, though, seem to brooke a far different reaction from the tailor -- a narrowing of the eyes and a lowering of his jaw -- but it quickly fades. As Maeghan leaves his side, he rises from his seat, leaning heavily upon his ornate cane to do so, he nods to Maeghan\'s announcement and then returns his eyes to the Prince, awaiting his proclamation.

Sirion says softly and tears at the jeweled star at his breast, \"Alas! Why should they be seperated at such a tender age? Should not the heir be brought to the citadel of the Prince where Tirion raised me (in winters while we were not summering in our fief of Calembel).

Oh my Lord! Why should that whorish daughter-in-law of mine, no more than kind and certainly less kind, keep my grandchild away from me?\"

You sense: Borgilas shifts his glance to you, furrowing dark brows in irritation.

[Imrahil(#29017)] With creased brow Imrahil regards the Lord of the Isilrim, and to Maeghan he casts a brief glance, raising a hand, \"Indeed you may, lady -- but a moment, for I deem this is a matter of great import.\" And he motions to Sirion, \"Speak clearly Lord of the Isilrim, and not thus in ridles -- and if it is within my power to aid, then I shall, for there have been few who have served me as have the Isilrim!\" And to Aearwen, he says naught except, \"Peace, lady! I would hear more of this!\"

Sirion turns to Maeghan and says, \"Yes my niece, but first as courtly manners entail I must now tell my tale!\"

Sirion turns back to the Prince, his old grey faced withered, \"Oh my liege, if sorrow and doom and the craven birds upon the flesh of the dead could only tell a greater tale of woe!\"

Thorondur\'s hand goes to the hilt of his sword, and all speakers save Sirion are, to this knight at least, invisible and inaudible. Well, nearly--he regards the Lady Aearwen with an amused smirk that says much for his thoughts protocol and decorum--and goes to Sirion\'s side, a hand on the elder one\'s arm. \"Say it\'s not so, Lord Isilrim,\" he pleads!

Maeghan\'s jaw drops at this statement and she gapes for a fairly long amount of time and then she says stiffly, \"I cannot believe what I just heard come out of your mouth my mother\'s brother....indeed! You insult my sworn sister, and I know not why *you* have difficulties seeing the young lad, for I have seen my newphew and as was accorded as Steward of the House I have been keeping an eye on his upbringing and deem it fine, for he is being taught to respect both cultures...as well as being taught all that he will need to know, he seemed in good health...you would curse Charystra a life apart from her husband...or to keep a son away from his mother...neither is a pleasant option...\", her eyes narrow faintly, rather protective of her sworn sister and her family.

[Sirion(#10108)] \"As well Lord Girithlin my old friend,\" his grey eyes turn back to the Prince. \"My Lord, as well you know my foppish son, Sirion married Charystra. He was then lately killed after he came Knight-Marshall by a jealous Lord. Thence in no less then one year\'s time... indeed! Even within a space of three months after the birth of my heirs, was she woo\'d away by Emmengrim of Rohan.\" These last words he speaks bitterly, \"Now they have taken them into adoption and while the younger remains here in Dol Amroth, the elder is still in the clutches of the Rohirrim and though they give all kindness...\" He then falls upon the shoulder of Thorondur, \"Support me my friend for my heart is grieved... I shall not have an heir to my house!\"

Borgilas clears his throat here, and steps forward. \"Highness, if I may?\"

Sirion touches his eye clearing a wayward tear. He says slowly to Thorondur, \"Do you have a kerchief my Lord Girithlin?\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] Rising now from his throne, with flashing gaze which sweep the room, lingering for a scant moment on all who stand before him, the Prince cries, his voice rising above all others, \"Enough!\"

[Rorgan(#19834)] Still does the tall tailor lean upon his carven cane, face now softening slightly as Sirion prefaces his tale. Clearly his attention has been captured, but he does have the presence to make a stopping motion to the four Silver Guardsmen who have now entered the throne room carrying a heavy chest.

As the men move aside so that others may again freely enter the room, Sirion begins his tale in earnest. Sirion turns to Maeghan and says, \"And what would I have? I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and my longfather\'s before me. That I shall have a son to rule my house after me that shall be his own master and no...\" He stops and is silent. He falls on his knees and the tears roll like the River Morthond.

[Thorondur(#13821)] Support for Sirion, and a darkling glare for Maeghan who would gainsay the Lord Isilrim, are the constants of Lord Thorondur\'s bearing now. Teeth clenching, the mercurial young Dunadan softly says, \"By the Seven and Seven who sit in judgement upon the Ring of Doom, I will see that Emmengrim of Ethias makes reparation, and that from the Widow Isilrim the Sons of Sirion be justly saved.\" And with that, from a pocket he produces, and hands Sirion, a kerchief.

[Borgilas(#22134)] Borgilas raps his cane twice upon the marble. \"Highness, if I might be allowed to speak,\" he says mildly, barely above the rest...

Sirion takes the kerchief and touches his eyes with it and says, \"My thanks Dread Lord. Please forgive an old man\'s grief who cares for nothing more than the preservation of his house and line.\" He looks up at Thorondur gratefully.

[Imrahil(#29017)] Stern and commanding, Imrahil son of Adrahil speaks as one who will brook little of naysaying, \"Am I no longer master in my own house that you would quarrel thus in discord in my halls? To you I say Lord of the Isilrim, that this is a grim matter -- but I will not have you thus speak ill of any here. And you Lady Maeghan -- hold your peace until your kinsman has said all he will.\" And grimly he motions to Borgilas to continue.

[Sirion(#10108)] \"My lord,\" says Sirion the Isilrim. \"In all things I have sworn fealty to thee since the days of the First Haradraic wars.\" Thorondur, for his part, stands beside Sirion in silence. Sharp blue eyes cut to Borgilas, hanging on the words of the Old Bragollach, whose flame--while fading--can yet flare sharp and sudden, it seems.

[Borgilas(#22134)] The Bragollach bows slightly, and takes a breath. \"It seems, if I have understood aright, that the problem is one that may be easily solved--this lad--\" here he nods briefly at Sirion of Isilrim, \"--is a scion of a House of Gondor. It is here that he will one day reign as Lord--should it not be here that he is fostered? For ever has it been so in our past, that the ties of the father bind more strongly than those of the mother, when they conflict...\" here he turns his gaze to Thorondur, \"Is it not so, oe-time Knight-Herald? Thou knowest, I think, the laws regarding such things better than any here...\"

Sitting back in her chair, a stiff unbending stance on her slender form the stormy blue eyes of Aearwen flash to those speaking. A crimson stain creeps up the pale porcelain of her cheeks as her ire grows. One cannot help but notice the fingers gripping the arm of her chair, pale knuckles pressing into the wood of the chair. Her jaw clenches and unclenches as angry words are spoken from many. Turning her attention to the stranger now speaking, her eyes do remain on his words, some interest returning to her expression as she listens.

[Rorgan(#19834)] Free hand rubbing his chin, the tailor\'s eyes move to the other caned one, waiting still, and still silent, Rorgan holds his ground, and seems content to do so. Often, though, do his eyes stray toward the Prince.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Kneeling beside her Uncle, Maeghan says softer, \"Uncle Sirion...times change...Indeed I love you, but Emmengrim is a good man...truely he is...he may be of a stern demeanor, but he is a *good* man...\", she sighs and then rises saying bitterly, \"I can see that the comfort and words of one who is not even kin comfort thee more...I shall remove myself...\", rising she turns to go back towards Rorgan\'s side, offering the Prince a contrite look and words of apology. Looking to the Lord Bragollach she asks quietly, \"And who shall foster the lad? I know not of any of my Aunts that are of the constitution and stamina to raise an exhuberent youngster...\"

[Thorondur(#13821)] \"Indeed,\" answers Thorondur to Borgilas, picking up the thought and stepping forward, back to the Prince, speaking to the assemblage with arms extended. Palms up and out in a gesture of supplication, he wonders aloud, \"Is it not law that the Sons of the Great Houses are to be fostered in the steadings of the other Lords of Gondor? The blood of the Mark, while assuredly valiant, is not the blood of lost and ancient Numenore held dear.\" Firmly, he nods, and turns in a whirl of his grey cloak back to Imrahil. \"I myself have long been named to foster the lad Thorondur, my namesake under Eru. The boy Arathis--it is the decision of his grandsire. Were I Herald even now, I might make it so with the stroke of my pen.\" Borgilas glances towards Maeghan. \"Men of Gondor take care of their own,\" he says simply, dismissively, and returns to the debate at hand.

[Sirion(#10108)] Unable to control himself Sirion manages to say softly lest he incurs the wrath of the Dreaded Prince, \"I have seen to the matter Sister-Daughter.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] \"You speak truly of the laws of Gondor, Lord Borgilas -- and you, Thorondur of the Girithlin, for you are well-versed in such matters\", and now, the Prince takes his seat again. \"But I will not pass judgement upon such a matter ere I have had speech with the Lady Charystra and Emmengrim of Rohan. Hear me then -- in a month\'s time shall I declare what is to become of the sons of House Isilrim!\" And he turns then to Sirion, and to him he says not unkindly, \"Take heart, Lord of the Isilrim -- it will not turn out ill as you fear.\"

[Rorgan(#19834)] And Rorgan can be overheard muttering, \"The blood of the Mark is as red as the blood of Numenore...\" Suddenly, though he is cut off in mid mutter, looking directly toward Maeghan and giving her a nod.

[Sirion(#10108)] For the first time since he came to Dol Amroth, Sirion smiles, slight as it may be, \"I thank you Lord. Already I have had Hadrian draw up the writ to place the heir in the care of Thorondur Girithlin\"

[Maeghan(#29549)] Taking the nod as a yes, Maeghan bites her lower lip and then says respectfully, \"My Lord Prince....there is something I wish to speak you about in private later this evening perhaps?\", she still has not regarding her kin since she left his side.

[Thorondur(#13821)] Oh, poor Rorgan. He has opened a proverbial can of worms, for Thorondur of the Girithlins has overheard him. Turning upon the tailor with a grin both fey and filled with amusement, he merely says, \"All blood is red, Man of Anor, but no blood of the wild Northlands built your own Tower of Guard. Watch your tongue, for you sit \'neath the roofs of the Exiles, and you question their line at your peril.\"

Borgilas glances at Rorgan as well, but with the flat disinterest one generally reserves for beasts of burden, as the Girithlin instructs him in the finer points of genealogy.

[Imrahil(#29017)] With inclined head, the Prince gives his consent to Maeghan, and he turns then to Sirion, \"Seek me out on the morrow, and we shall talk more on this matter.\" And now, he bends his gaze upon Thorondur and Rorgan, cold and stern, \"I will have no more rash words spoken before me. Leave me now all of you, lest my wrath grows greater!\"

Aearwen watches the proceedings with much amusement as the words of first one and then another threaten house again house. Her smile cannot be contained as Rorgan is threated by Thorondur, cutting her eyes as she eagerly awaits his response, she marvels at the mayhem wrought into the peace of the throne room.

Puzzled eyes do cut to the Prince for allowing such a public display of mad manners and taste to continue but Aearwen shrugs her shoulders as yet another outburst occurs

Sirion crosses his arms over his chest and bows. He takes three steps back and then withdraws to his place among the Lords.

[Maeghan(#29549)] Her body growing stiff, the Lady Maeghan litterally bites her tongue at the words of Thorondur, a small drop of blood appearing upon the corner of her mouth as she remains silent, though her clenched fists and jaw tell a story of one who is about at the limits of courtesy and politeness, yes the rumors do seem to be true, that this maid\'s temper does indeed match her firey hair. She does speak up and she says, \"My Lord Prince, Rorgan and I wished to present my Uncle something in your presence...\", the maid\'s voice is heartbroken as she casts a desparate look upon her betrothed, she adds, \"It will not take but a moment..in all honesty...\", her cheeks turn a bashful crimson, knowing that she is perhaps treading upon ice that is paper thin.

[Thorondur(#13821)] With the reprimand of the Prince does the Lord Girithlin become the very portrait of sublime apology, humble and head bowed. Yet sharp eyes will flash with mischief, and fingers touched to lips blow the tailor a pretty kiss. A dark eyebrow arches, regarding Maeghan--and the lord turns to bow before the Prince. \"Highness,\" he says politely, \"Your word is my command.\" And with the uttermost humility does he repair to the gallery of knights assembled, several of whom share hidden smiles among them.

[Rorgan(#19834)] \"As my Prince wishes,\" says Rorgan with a roll of his eyes, raising his cane to point in the direction of the Girithlin, \"But indeed, this man seems bent on maligning my own heritage and kin, and I would be remiss not to come to its defense.\" With these words, Rorgan turns and waves the Silver Guardsmen and their presentatin back out the door and begins to make his way there himself, with a small motion toward the last remaining guard to follow along as he does.

Rising from her chair with graceful fluidity, Aearwen\'s hands go to the voluminous folds of her dress for a quick curtsy. Noble head bends for a moment before her gracious words do utter, \"My liege, an apology is given for the words spoken tonight in angry. A full report of the diplomatic trip to Rohan will be better given with less interuption.\", with that her eyes flash to the last to enter. \"I bid you all a good night.\", with not another word spoken, the soft footsteps of Lady Aearwen echo in the now silence of the throne room as she exits the room.

[Thorondur(#13821)] \"Malign?\" Thorondur draws near Old Borgilas, of all people, and leans nearer the elder knight with an impish grin. Shoulder to shoulder, the younger lord speaks softly to his senior. \"The man\'s searching for trouble, I think. I would never question the courage of the Rohirrim.\" A pause, and he adds, \"It is a simple fact that they are not of Westernesse.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)] At a gesture from the Prince, the great doors of marble are opened, and in silence the lords of the realm begin to make their way out. To Rorgan he says then, \"I will not hold your words against you, Rorgan of Minas Tirith -- yet, see that a thing does not come to pass again!\" And to the Master Healer of Gondor he says firmly -- yet not unkindly, \"Nay, lady, I fear it must wait until the morrow.\" And he rises, tall and clad in glittering mail. And it is clear to all -- the court has been dismissed.

Sirion turns and backs out of the court, his retainers in tow. As he walks he speaks to them. They immediately whip out notepads and jot down .... something...

Borgilas glances to Thorondur, almost as if an adder has just whispered to him, but after a moment can do naught but nod his agreement. \"Valiant they are, but...\" he shrugs, \"They are not of Gondor...

[Borgilas(#22134)] ...\"Nor of Numenor.\"