(Archive) - Family Duties

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Weather: Clear

Time: Late Morning

Season: Spring

Date: Trewsday - May 22, 3021

Real Time: Sat Sep 23 07:38:43 2000

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Hanging Gardens

A burst of verdure tucked in the space between the citadel to the north and the cliffs leading down to the sea on the south and west. The Gardens are surrounded by a slightly raised terrace, in which grow trees of all sizes and descriptions, from magnificent ancient lebethron to youthful rowan, their boughs and branches overhanging the periphery of the garden. Interspersed in the interior are massive chiseled cubes upon which rest pillars as tall as the trees while smooth stone arches between. Plants and vines spill from these arches in green cascades, birds and insects flitting among them. Sparse grass clings to the ground under this canopy, unable to grow thicker in the shadows beneath.

The air is heavy with the scent of flowers and the moisture of the Gardens themselves--a trickling sound fills the air at all hours from the water-channels dug into the archways, adding to the humidity. Beyond the trickling, birds chirp and whistle, and insects buzz, while the sea roars in the distance. Compared to this, the soft conversations of wanderers among the shadowed columns is insignificant and almost inaudible.

The Sun hangs directly over-head, making the landscape of Gondor seem flat and shadowless...you squint your eyes against the brightness...

Imrahil:

Tall and lordly is this man, a figure of stern command and regal presence, strong of limb and fair of countenance. Raven hair shorn about his shoulders, and a white gem, bright and star-like, bound upon his brow by a silver circlet -- here is one in whom the blood of Numenor runs true, mingled even with that of the Elder Kindred. And there lingers about him -- in his bearing, proud and noble, and in his grey eyes, keen and bright with a calm wisdom -- the whispering breath of ancient glory that of the Sea Kings of a fallen age.

Rich and worked with cunning details is his raiment. Save for the silken tunic he wears, of the purest alabaster and with a high collar trimmed in intricate threads of silver, all else is dark as night\'s veil -- breeches, high boots, and a great cloak trimmed with argent and clasped at the throat with a brooch of true-silver cast in the likeness of a swan. Golden and fair is the belt girt at his waist, and at his side he bears a mithril-hilted sword in a jewelled scabbard.

Khaumor:

He is a pale, smooth-featured young man with grey eyes that, normally without colour turn one, a crystaline blue, the other a clear lightest brown when his emotions are piqued. Enough to worry a normal person the first time it happens. Crow-black hair frames his face, strait without any wave at all, brushing his shoulders at the slightest wind. His lips turn down naturally and, when he does smile, becomes a line whose ends turn up. He is tall and this is emphasized by his thin body and legs, lean muscles giving his limbs a defined shape. His shoulders like the rest of him are wiry. He looks as if he may be able to run far, fast and not tire quickly.

Right between his eyebrows, from the middle of his forehead down to the middle of his nose lies a scar, almost dimond-like, usually half-hidden by his shoulder-length hair, though this hiding of the farely fresh, ominously deliberate scar is not on purpose. He feels no reason to hide it in shame, and wears it without fear of being looked at strangely.

He carries himself with a strange sort of confidence and reluctance and there is a sense of both boding and frustration about him. There is a dark way that he looks at other people that is usually scrutinizing and suspicious at the same time. His dark hair and fair complexion make his eyes seem shadowed.

He wears a black padded leather sleeveless top as armour and nothing on all his arms but a black half bracer on his right forearm. His armour has various buckles and such to keep it closed and looks well-worn. His pants, black as well, are of the travelling sort and are tucked into leather boots, which have buckles as well.

Rowaen:

A tall and grave young man, with jet-black hair and sullen blue eyes which radiates a coolness as they stare out into the world around him. A lean, warrior frame, his arched dark eyebrows crown his long-lashed eyes. His strong features do not diminish the youthful aura he has about him. One can indeed say that this young man is rather attractive, despite his reserved looks and sometimes an expression of respite that he wears, as if hiding a hidden torment.

He is clad in a tunic of the purest white, covering most of his lean upper body. Upon it, in shimmering silver, two proud signs of the Silver Ship and the Swan of Dol Amroth adorn the otherwise plain material. Beneath his tunic he wears a white shirt, almost seeming like velvet, and so do his trousers, being spotless and pure, common to a White-squire of Dol Amroth. They end in black leather boots, smooth and pure. More silver sparkles, a plain, thin silver chain laying lazily around his neck, descending to his chest, seeming to further providing light to his form, besides his fair complexion. However, should one notices with a greater care, a unique silver ring is on his fourth finger, that seems to be carefully taken care of.

scene description: Two brothers \'enjoy\' each other\'s company, being surprised by another visitor of the Garden\'s. The incident family versus duties coming forward quite clearly...

The rays of the sun are scattered on this early morning. Casting long shadows amongst the many trees and bushes. Still life is evident here, birds chirping, insects buzzing. And as always people sitting around, enjoying and relaxing, away from their worries and daily duties.

Among them sits a raven-haired youth, clad in purest white. It is Rowaen, sitting on a bench, near some rose-bushes, clearly enjoying the nice scent. His hands lay lazily on his legs, his eyes half closed, the lad quite tired of some late studying the night before. He does not notice or hear a thing, so occupied by his own thoughts.

Khaumor spots his brother while passing and moves over to him. He stands in front of Rowaen and looks down apon him. \"Brother,\" he says, perhaps to get the other\'s attention. He pauses curiously and then continues. \"...Mother wants you to write,\" he says, his gaze fixing back to Rowaen. \"Since you seem to be staying here.\"

Surpressing himself to jump on his feet of surprisement hearing this sudden voice, Rowaen blinks, casting a frowned face looking for the one who almost made his heart froze on the spot. Yet as he recognizes his kid brother a sudden wide grin brightens up his appearance. \"Khaumor! How good it is to see you... Next time dear brother could you perhaps be a bit less.... sudden? I fear my heart is not used to such sudden surprisements.\" Overthinking his brother\'s words, Rowaen utters a soft sigh before continuing. \"Mother you say... Ay you are right Khaumor, I indeed have to write her one of these days... How worried she must be. Still... I figured this myself, dear brother, yet somehow in some odd way I could not bring myself to do so. It is strange and quite discomforts me, it is as if I am afraid... I figure it is just my mind not quite sure what to write...\" For a moment Rowaen looks down at his feet, a dreamy gaze in his blue eyes.

\"Well, she\'s not going to like just getting letters from me about your welfare,\" he says a little coldly, but shifts his position. He wrinkles his nose as if it is itchy and looks to the side. \"Well... It\'s good to see you again, after all this time...\" he says passively.

Lulled by the warmth of the spring day and the gentle wind from the West, the gardens -- a haven of verdant beauty in the midst of the alabaster walls of the Marble Citadel -- are resting-place to no few people this noon. Retainers of the castle, folk from the town, Knights of the Swan -- and a youthful Squire and his brother. But there is another who draws nigh to them now, tall and lordly, head bent as if in thought, raven hair veiling his visage from sight.

Slowly raising his head once more, Rowaen replies to his young brother a waery smile on his face. Yet the moment he speaks, his eyes notice a man coming near, clearly lost in thoughts. \"Indeed it is Khaumor... I promise you I will write her this eve, my duties as a squire do not leave me with too much free time.. Though it is a sacrifice I am willing to undergo...\" As he speaks to his brother, Rowaen slowly rised to his feet, now recognizing the man coming towards them. Softly Rowaen adresses the man, his voice almost a whisper caring not to disturb the man\'s thoughts. \"My Lord... it is good to see you.\" An elegant bow is made to pay An elegant bow is made to pay the required respect to the Prince, him being the man lost in thoughts.

Khaumor follows his brothers actions gracefully, without having a true idea of whom he was paying respects to. He straitens and looks better at the new arrival, eyeing this one too with a hint of curiousity.

The Squire\'s words linger in the still noon air, but for a brief moment, there is no reply and then the Prince -- for Prince indeed it is, glittering gem upon his brow alight with Arien\'s fire -- raises his head.

Grey eyes, distant and misty as if his thoughts wander far from the garden, sharpen upon the two youths before him, and courteously he inclines his head, \"Greetings, Squire...and to you as well, Man of Gondor.\"

Casting a quick glance to his brother, and noticing Khaumor\'s ignorance, Rowaen adresses the man again, to help clarify. \"My Prince... is there something the matter, perhaps I can be of assistance?\" Now looking back at Khaumor, Rowaen hesitates a moment before introducing his brother to Imrahil. \"My Lord this is my brother Khaumor, who came from Minas Tirith, returning from a one year search to find me... Khaumor, this is the Prince of Dol Amroth himself, Imrahil...\" With piercing eyes Rowaen now gazes at Khaumor, as if to warn him to pay the required respect.

It is the gem that finally allows him to understand who this is. His heart leaps and he steps back one pace. \"Prince...\" he pauses, and looks at his brother. \"You are his majesty\'s squire?\" he says in disbelief. \"Now that\'s something you should have written home about...!\" He looks back at the Prince not wanting to think that he was dissmissing him, and unsure how to act, never having delt with nobility of this rank before.

A look of surprise and somewhat amused Rowaen faces Khaumor. \"His squire? My dear brother who-ever gave you that idea. I am a squire yes, alas still one without a knight. So please do not kid yourself with untrue stories, I will not have them.\" Rowaen turns to face Imrahil, closing his eyes in respect.

\"My Lord please do not get offended by his words... Khaumor is good of belief, or perhaps he has bumped his head. I can assure you, my lord, I did not provide him with these awkward assumptions. So Khaumor,\" He speaks as he faces Khaumor again, his gaze now grave and somewhat dark. \"who fooled you this time? I told you several times to check before believing. Too many people enjoy telling the wildest stories, even ones that can be quite harmfull to others...\"

\"Then I bid you welcome to Dol Amroth by the sea, Khaumor...indeed, doubly welcome if you have searched for your brother so long\" -- the youth\'s lack of surety is plain to see, but it has little cause, it would seem for the Prince glances to Rowaen with a smile, \"Nay, do not chide him for this. It was a simple mistake, I deem. But...\"

And here he pauses for a moment, regarding the Squire with arched brow, \"Did your kin have no knowledge of you that your brother should wander for a year ere finding you?\"

Upon hearing Imrahil\'s words, Rowaen\'s face darkens even more. His voice seems to tremble a bit as he speaks of the matter, slowly setting himself on the bench behind him. \"Aye... my Lord I told ye of it when I swore my oath... It had to do with my accident, the one of the shipwreck... I suffered from amnesia for two years and was haunted by ill-fortune which prevented me from returning, having to wait another year. In total I have been away for three years... Mother...she urged Khaumor to go and search for me as she refused to believe I perished in the raging ocean, as my body was not found.\" Burdened by his recent past, again experiencing all the misery he thought he left behind, Rowaen keeps silent, not able to speak more of it or perhaps even worse not willing to speak of it. As a statue he remains, turned himself for some moments.

Silence, summoned by the Squire\'s distress, settles heavily upon the three who stand thither. In silence the Prince regards him for long moments, his clear gaze not unkindly, ere speaking again, \"Have you sent word to your mother after coming to Dol Amroth and taking the Oath?\"

Khaumor finds himself a bit speechless. He was not about to press his brother about the events that had occurred, but now he knew enough to have questions. He says nothing, however.

Imrahil\'s words forcing Rowaen to return to the present, leaving his dark past, make Rowaen look up. His grieve and sorrow quite readible in his eyes, they stand soft, away is the normal glow. The young squire gazes yet his eyes do not seem to take note of anything around. His voice sounds soft, near a whisper.

\"First I traveled to Minas Tirith, near to where my parents reside, yet the one I was searching for was not there anylonger... My love Dania, i heard she left for Dol Amroth to become a Lady in Waiting... So the same day I arrived I departed for Dol Amroth, anxious to learn if my the heart of my love Dania was still with me or that she found another... And so I arrived in Dol Amroth and no my duties and occupied mind prevented me from writing my mother of all the news... I now think of myself as a fool, forgetting his humanity...\" A sigh leaves his throat, full of sorrow and displeasement. \"I am sorry my Lord for my dark mood, it is mere...mere that the remembrance of my troubles hurts me...\"

Khaumor says nothing but his face is dark. He moves to say something but changes his mind, having little to say anyway. He looks to the Prince for his reply.

\"Your path has been a dark one, Squire...but you would have done well to have paid more thought to your kin.\"

The rebuke in the Prince\'s words is easily read -- yet, is is not overly harsh, and his tone is without sting and not ungentle when he continues, \"It would be well if you wrote a letter to your mother and gave it to Khaumor, I deem.\"

Saddly Rowaen nods his head upon the Prince\'s words, bringing one hand to his brother\'s shoulder. A soft sqeeuze is given, perhaps to reassure himself of his brother\'s presence.

\"Wise words indeed my Lord... And I will as soon as my duties allow me to do so... Still it is no reason to act as I do towards my kin. I was a fool..\" Sadly Rowaen faces up, gazing at his brother, almost seemingly to forget of Imrahil being there. \"Khaumor can you forgive me... I should have spent more time with you, yet instead I tried to bury myself in my duties, desperate to forget my past... Herebye I promise you, dear brother, I will change my ways and write a letter as soon as possible..\"

\"And your brother...\"

Here, the Son of Adrahil turns to the other youth, his gaze lingering on the sable armour he bears, \"...can tarry as long as he wishes to in Dol Amroth ere setting forth again for Minas Tirith. Your travels have been fraught with peril indeed, it would seem Khaumor -- but put such things from you for a while, and ease your mind...for there is naught to bring you harm in this place.\"

Khaumor makes a bit of a face, unsure what to do about this as well. \"Of course... I forgive you. You have your duties. Write your letter and don\'t worry about me.\" He does, however go as far as to pat his hand resting on his shoulder. Which is addmittedly quite a stretch for the young man.

Glad him being out of the attention a bit, Rowaen slowly rises to his feet, smiling briefly towards his brother, pleased by his words. Now it is his turn to remain silent, for this purpose the young squire turns to face the rose-bushes right behind him, sniffing the delicious smell, as if the scent could sooth his inner grief.

Drawing back -- for this meeting of two brothers is a matter in which any other would do ill to intrude -- Imrahil stays yet to speak one last time, \"Rowaen...you will henceforth be my Squire. Come to me on the morrow at the seventh hour after noon.\"

And even as he turns away, he adds -- is it amusement which runs through his voice? -- \"Your brother was not mistaken after all, it would seem.\"

Khaumor\'s mouth falls open just slightly as he regards the retreating Prince. He takes a breath to speak, but does not. It is not often his surprise is left so strewn in the open.

Hearing Imrahil\'s words Rowaen turns slowly, an astonished expression on his face. Staggering his words are as he speaks. \"My... my Lord? Your... squire?\" Indeed Rowaen could have only dreamt of it, for a moment his darkness was surpressed. Even a faint smile breaks through on his face. Again to show his respect Rowaen makes a final bow. \"I will be there my Lord... and I owe thee my gratitude.. Farewell and have a pleasant day..\" After finishing his sentence Rowaen looks up at his younger brother, his eyes sparkling with delight.