A Herald\'s Homecoming

Belfalas: Practice Yards

Here upon a wide shelf of land southwest of the city proper, great lawns of grass are kept manicured and cut for the purposes of the Knights. It is here where the great tournaments are held, and in those fair times stands are erected, and banners and bunting unfurled. But there is no tourney this season, and all that keep the watch here now are a few lonely quintains, swaying alone in the wind off the Sea.

The Sea, the Sea! The yards run down gently into the sandy beach of Belfalas, and above them to the northeast, high upon its cliffs, the City of the Princes rises with its marble towers in the sunlight. The soft rushing of the waves sounds low on the air.

Contents:

Gwendion

Obvious exits:

Northeast leads to Belfalas: Men Ernil - Outside the Marble Gate.

Beach leads to Belfalas: Beach.

[Gwendion(#24427)]

It is afternoon not by the low perch of the sun, for it is hidden behind the murky, moist cloud brought from the sea. Nor by the chill in the air, for the winds have been from the south and the spring warm thus far. Nevertheless, the day ends and soon it will be night and upon the fields of the yards, some Knights use the last fading lights for sport and game.

Gwendion sits upon the grasses, watching a handful of young knights trade blows with blades of oak and shields of leather. There is meat by his side, and ale in his hand as he watches. And though he is not old, his contrast with the youth that games before him marks him aged indeed.

[Arathis]

A rider saunters at caution\'s gait about the perimeter of the yards, befitting in stature neither his steed nor his armors. Though the wear of an Amroth\'s Man-at-Arms marks him, the tabard is worn and he overly muddied to be amongst the city\'s proper garrison. At length, he dismounts his undersized horse drops eagerly, folding its legs in rest.

Yet some steps removed from the sitting knight, the helmed, tall man calls out, in tenor perhaps unforeign to those accustomed to him: \"You ready your men, Hir Captain?\"

[Gwendion(#24427)]

The voice, known or not, is not recognized and Gwendion is not immediately roused by the words. \"Too much laughter on the field, drink in the gullet, and coin held in escrow for the winner of this little game to make any ready for naught but sleep. A pleasant end to a hard week.\"

A glance then towards the rider and a raised brow in inquiry, \"You have the look of a man journeyed overly long, yourself. A hard patrol? Trouble on the roads?\" He moves to stand.

[Arathis]

The arrived rider hangs still, his gaze burdening the airs between him and the rising knight. Moments of unhidden appraisal pass, widening in end his nostrils: “You seem well, Hir Gwendion.

“But, alas,” he gestures offhandedly to the ground, “it is not by the fortunes that you are privileged the Swan’s baton.”

Surveying then the tokens of merriment, and too the nearby knock of wood and hide, he grates coolly, “But aye, trouble on the roads, as you say.”

[Gwendion(#24427)]

Confusion and more so, wary, is clear in Gwendion\'s eyes. As he rises, indeed his baton, a heavy thing of ebony, rises in hand. He takes a step towards the helmed solider, his gaze measuring the man and his condition, \"Then tell me friend,\" he says, a hint of edge to his voice, \"What sorts of troubles are in the news you bring? And by what name shall I name he who by some luck has brought them to me?\"

[Arathis]

\"You shall name him Arathis, undead and returned, sworn yet to his Prince and against his Enemies.\"

The Lord Isilrim thus advances inward for Gwendion, tilting in step with an apparent lumber at his side.

His palm rises, offering gesture to the heavens: \"And by what name shall I name the culling at Caldur, if not treachery? The same that bid us north, alas -- the same that your completed travels did not thwart?\"

[Gwendion(#24427)]

The men of the blood of old are often said to be pale, but the blood drains from Gwendion\'s face still. \"A wraith has come... a spectre truly undead but yet,\" his focus follows behind the man, to the horse behind him, \"Do the dead ride upon steed and carry mail and yet the voice rings true of in my ears and the face... is certainly...\"

He steps forward again, his hands grabbing the shoulders of the once Knight-Herald, eyes shining with emotion, \"Can... can it be?\"

The barest hint of a smile, \"You are late to return home.\"

[Arathis]

The smile is not completed by the Lord Isilrim, and the grasp flattens his lips in pain.

From beneath his helm, he scans his fellow: “I am late, but I have heard much from Findon and Menelglir, now knights, upon my travels home. Alas, Hir, it is known to me why you are weighted by Amroth’s baton.”

[Gwendion(#24427)]

\"It is light for me now,\" Gwendion expounds gaily but it is short lived as he sees the other man\'s pain, \"Ah, but your road has been hard. That I can see. Let us talk on our way towards Lady Ivriniel\'s halls so that she may attend to you.\"

He motions towards the city, \"As for the troubles of the city and of the Prince, we are in the eye of the storm. Caldur was a heavy blow to our brothers, and like you for a time, many will never stand by our sides again. And now Imrahil\'s council is in disarray, as is the man himself. Though it has been several months, how long does it take for a man to catch up lost time with his children, much less his fief?\"

\"He is still our Lord but... it is a tenuous time. The Squires we have raised since Caldur are worthy, but fresh and untested. Few of the Squires of Caldur survived, falling beside their Knights. The Stewards men offer what aid as they can, but the east is ever present and our numbers are thin. It is only a matter of time before Umbar seeks its revenge.\"

[Arathis]

A hand rises for Gwendion’s shoulder, yielding at length the same affection previously offered by the Knight-Captain. Arathis’s grasp however grows stiff, hampering any motion for the city’s gates.

He pulls himself closer to his former companion, speaking then but a few inches from the Swansman’s ear: “Then the war the Firstborn counseled to avert is upon us. Heed, I have given Findon the token of Imrahil’s Herald, and instructed him to summon those Lords yet sworn to the Imrazori for Council. Of what weight my word shall now prove, I know not, but it shall soon be discovered who among us are yet inclined to hear it.

“For now, speak none of Arathis. Treachery has bid this city to much death, and I would not forewarn it of my coming.\"

[Gwendion(#24427)]

\"Treachery? Would your words go so far so soon returned?\"

Gwendion is cautious in his tone as well as in what ears would hear their words, \"Hubris and arrogance ruled in your absence but treachery beyond what the prides that blacken the hearts of good men? It is a strong thing to say. And a dangerous one. Amroth is alive, but battered and broken in both body and heart. The faith of the people of the land has been true but I fear showing greater weakness in the brotherhood will not benefit any save those that besmirch our Prince and the Steward\'s names upon those troubled roads you speak of.\"

[Arathis]

The entreaty earns a pause from Arathis, who now withdraws a step from Gwendion. An inquisitive look studies him, ere giving way to a worn, albeit deliberate tongue: “Yea,” he breathes atop a spaced lament, “there is truth to your heart, Hir. And yet I have learned in my absence that the Enemy’s reach is wide.

“For what did you return with Herald’s authority, only for the counsels of our journey to be unwelcome, and your authority soon stripped?

“For what did Elphir himself direct us north, if it was not to gain insight into what was here obscure in the south?

“Yea,” he continues, “I shall not claim the word alone. Let here the verdict of the Council come. But if the will of the Imrazori has been transgressed, I shall name it treachery.

“I go now to the Prince.”

Thus departs the Lord Isilrim, donned yet as a Man-at-Arms, into the city of Dol Amroth.