(Archive) Drenlyn\'s Tardiness

This afternoon finds the White Knight clad in black, of all colours -- black riding leathers, his standard gear for exercises. Soft and comfortable, with the glint of a light chain-shirt just hinted at beneath the vest, he taps a blunted practice sword against the toe of his boot. \"Where -is- that squire?\" he mutters to himself.

Drenlyn bursts into the hall panting. Seeing the Herald he quickly approaches and bows, \"My lord, I beg pardon for my delay....I was detained.\"

Footsteps on the galleries above echo down into this chamber, though no man or woman appears to make the sound...

Yet in but a moment, a young lady, pale and drawn from many weeks abed steps carefully down the stairway here. Both hands rest on the rail as she struggles her way down, followed closely by careful maids.

The Herald, the White Knight, Thorondur Edrahil -- his fair face is touched with a wry, lazy smile as his hurried squire finds him. As yet unaware of the lady\'s descent, he lifts his blade and gives Drenlyn\'s shoulder a playful tap. \"Well enough, Squire,\" he says. \"Yet I see you are not clad for sparring. Does some other late duty yet await you?\"

Cirthel after this procession has passed a patter of light feet come and immediately comes a young maid looking in curiously.

Flushed in the face, and still panting Drenlyn bows his head, \"Indeed one does my lord. I fear that my lack of garbs comes due to my regular duties being left undone.\" Leaving his head bowed Drenlyn\'s voice drops, \"I am truly sorry my lord, for I should meet any obligations that I lay for myself, especially when those obligations involve you my lord.\"

That lazy smile never leaves his face -- Thorondur only shakes his head in bemusement. \"Enough with the \'my lords\', lad,\" the young Knight-Herald reminds his squire, lowering the practice-blade once more. \"You take your duty seriously, and that is well -- but I\'ll hardly throw you in irons for being late on occasion.\" Then, he pauses for effect.

At length, Thorondur says, \"Go. Finish your other tasks. We\'ll work you doubly hard when you return--\" and he laughs. \"That should satisfy your guilty conscience, yes?\"

As she stops at the foot of the stairs, the young Princess smiles softly and yet says nothing, simply watching the people in the room... particularly the squire, and the knight to whom he speaks.

Drenlyn raises his head at the words of the Herald as a look of relief swims over his face, \"Yes my lo...sire, I will return to my duties, but I ask how should I address you if it be not \'my lord\'?\"

\"Call me by name -- or Sir Thorondur, if you cannot bear to go without some honorific,\" the Herald quips, light of heart and light of tongue. \"Now go,\" he threatens the younger man, his voice rising and his blade lifting in twin reminders of menace, \"ere I chase you from the hall myself!\"

The would-be \'threat\' dissolves into melodic laughter, and waving Drenlyn off, Thorondur turns away, lowering his weapon -- and spying the Princess across the hall. His colour rises in a faint blush -- embarrassment?

With a quick nod and a bow, Drenlyn turns catching a quick glimpse of princess but does not pause. He quickly leaves making with all speed in the direction of the stables.