(Archive) - Torelin

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

Weather: Clear

Time: Dawn

Season: Spring

Date: Hevensday - May 9, 3021

Real Time: Mon Sep 18 21:46:16 2000

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

*Note - log supplied by Drenlyn*

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

Contents:

Torelin

Thorondur

Obvious exits:

Iron Door

Outside, beyond the walls, it may be dawn. Outside, beyond the walls, there may be light. But here in the dungeons of the Prince, only the faintest part of the morning\'s brilliance reaches down the barred and latticed shaft to the sky, and to fresh air.

Still, this is not a savage land, but noble Gondor. The cell is dry, and well kept the straw is fresh, and this prisoner, at least, has had decent food and clean water, if solitude....

Outside the door, however, come signs that the last, at least, soon will end. Voices, the scuffing of boots on a cold stone floor, and the butting of pikes set down hard in salute.

Caged in Umbar, caged in Gondor-such is the fate of Torelin, once Knight-Herald of Dol Amroth. Alone as he ever was in the last three years of his life, the once-Knight sits upon his cot in quiet contemplation.

About him are those things most precious to one confined to a single room-a few books, a cup of water and some blankets. Nothing more keeps the man company besides his thoughts. His expression is dour and his eyes seem dead and distant, even in the dim light of the small room.

Without preamble, the iron door swings inward, pushed from the guardroom beyond. Framed in the doorway is a tall man, noble and hard of facade he is clad all in white. Stood there a moment, an angel\'s silhouette in the halo of graying light from the window-shaft, his sapphire gaze falls upon the prisoner -- though not unkindly.

Into the room he comes, Thorondur Edrahil -- once and current Knight-Herald of Dol Amroth, among other things, yet none of these go before him. This morn, he comes as Lord Girithlin, not Imrahil\'s Herald, and at his side and just behind him is a young squire.

\"Ah!\" comes an exclamation from the prisoner, his low voice echoing off the cold stone. \"Lord Girithlin, the proud Thorondur and the voice of Imrahil. Here to join in this charade of justice?\"

Torelin stands, stretching out his arms as he comes to his full height. Wearing simple clothes of a noble prisoner he eyes the two men and bows. \"Would you were here on better circumstances. I was just reading some works from an old poet of Dol Amroth. He had some wonderful lines about Turin.\"

\"All things to do with Turambar are wonderful, if one asks Sirion the Elder of it,\" Thorondur dryly remarks, signaling Drenlyn to shut the door behind them. \"For myself, I have always preferred the tales -before- the Nirnaeth... they are far more hopeful.\"

\"As for justice,\" the knight adds, now fixing his gaze squarely upon the prisoner, \"I cannot speak to that, any more than I can speak to whatever may be in your past with the Lady Bragollach. But this,\" he explains, \"is what good Drenlyn and I have come to discover.\"

A look of distaste sweeps over Drenlyn\'s face, as he shoots a scornful look towards the prisoner. Holding his tongue, Drenlyn follows each word carefully, as if trying to dissect every meaning. At the mention of the Lady Bragollach, Drenlyn\'s ears prick up, and he turns to stare suspiciously once more at the prisoner.

Torelin huffs once and shakes his head. \"I am Turin Turambar reborn it seems, for I am betrayed and yet my life is spared only to be taken prisoner.\" A glance at his surroundings and a motion of his hands emphasizes the state of his freedom. \"Do not speak the name of Bragollach to me. The name holds only cruelty and treachery.\" There is a pause and a look of extreme dissolution falls over Torelin\'s strikingly angular face. He sighs out the next statement: \"I have not even gone to visit where I and my now deceased Aiesha spent our happiest days.

Noting the squire\'s look, just inside his peripheral vision perhaps, the Lord Girithlin glances narrowly aside to Drenlyn. \"Mind your manners, Squire,\" he upbraids the youth firmly but politely. \"This man is a knight, unless -- or until -- the Lady\'s accusations prove true. I took no joy in bringing him hither.\"

Now back to Torelin Amrodath goes Thorondur\'s cool and unflappable stare, and he nods, once, slowly. \"I will speak the name of Bragollach until you answer the question, Torelin, for it is an integral part of the query. Now,\" and here, his inflection and tone become grave and proper, \"Wilt thou accept my aid, or dost thou go willingly into a Doom that may or may not be just?\"

Standing by, nodding to the Knight Herald, Drenlyn\'s face resumes a calm look of composure, as he awaits for the prisoner\'s answer, his eyes still following every move.

Torelin laughs now, a deep rumbling that seems to pass beyond these imprisoning walls. \"I have faced doom more desperate and dangerous than the Lady Bragollach\'s accusations. I have carried your helm before the Prince and watched the battlefields light with the fires of the dark-lands.\" He shrugs, \"I do not fear her but I will take your aid nonetheless.\" Dark grey eyes, eyes of an ancient lineage glare at the Knight-Herald. \"Yet, I will ask why you would provide me with help before I answer your questions.\"

The other\'s glare is met not with indifference, but a thing very close: the hard, cool gaze of the lordly Dunedain, the Kings of Men. Thorondur wears his birthright like a regal mantle, and in this moment seems cold, unassailable, a judge from out of ancient days.

\"For you, the Lord Isilrim has spoken,\" says the Herald, gravely. \"That is enough to cast doubt upon the Lady\'s accusation. But come -- you do not speak like a guilty man -- yet neither do you protest your innocence. Which are you, Torelin Amrodath?\"

\"For there is no middle ground.\"

\"I am innocent of many things and guilty of others,\" he begins in answer to the man\'s question. The cold indifference of Thorondur is met with Torelin\'s gaze. \"Do not assume that a definitive statement will do little to sway the anger of a woman scorned.\" This statement floats on the air for a moment before it is overlaid with the former Knight\'s continuing words, \"I am innocent of plotting to end her life, if that is the question you are asking, Lord Girithlin.\"

\"It is,\" answers the Herald, now folding his hands together before him, now bending the full weight of that gaze upon Torelin: neither accusation nor sympathy lurks there...only duty. Only honour. A pause, the space of a breath -- and then Thorondur speaks again.

\"It is the first question. The second, then: if you are innocent indeed, then why does she fear you so?\"

Almost as if he will not be pressed, perhaps not used to being in an acquiescent position, Torelin steps forward and crosses his giant arms in front of his chest. There is defiance in his eyes and words, his heritage creating an impenetrable wall through which few emotions can cross. \"She fears that I will accuse her of conspiring to bring doom to my house and myself. She did not expect me to be alive to tell the Prince that she put herself between Aiesha and myself, turned her against me and coveted my lands.\"

Now with a hint of anger Drenlyn interjects, \"And do tell sir why the Lady of a noble house would do such a thing? What gain would she have through such doings?\"

The Herald stands unaffected by the prisoner\'s sudden shift, merely eyeing the other with the same cool detachment he has maintained throughout the morning. And then Drenlyn\'s query, unasked-for, yet telling Thorondur nods in agreement. \"Indeed,\" he says, \"Squire Drenlyn\'s question has merit.\"

Torelin shrugs and moves himself back to his cot. \"I do not know for what reasons she would try to ruin me. Our relationship was strong and we shared many good times. When I was asked by the Steward to travel to Umbar in disguise I received a letter that she was conspiring to all those things I before mentioned. I had no time to return to Dol Amroth and in fact never was able to return...\" A sigh escapes the large man\'s chest as he leans back on the cold wall. \"It does not matter anyway. My lands are now gone, as is my title and my wife. I have returned home to accusations and little else.\" He glares up at Thorondur, \"Now if there is anything else?\"

The fiery glare is met and returned -- not mirrored, but returned -- by a cool and emotionless gaze. \"You do not dictate the terms of this interview, Torelin Amodath. You are the prisoner here -- and if you wish to be otherwise, you will remember that.\"

He is silent a moment, the Elf-Friend, silent for emphasis. Only after does he ask, \"Am I perfectly clear?\"

Torelin waves his hand, the once-leader of the armies of Amroth, showing the personality that he held as a squire. \"Do what you will. Help me or not, I do not hold you accountable for aid nor will I refuse it.\"

\"To let one\'s self be carried by the tides of other\'s wills shows weakness. This display is not like a knight, which you so claim to be,\" Drenlyn stares at the prisoner\'s display with scorn.

Torelin jumps to his feet and he seems to grow in height. There is a fire beneath his stare at Drenlyn, \"How dare you question my fitness as a Knight, yelp!\" There is an undertone of extreme anger that seems barely in check in the man, as if he is ready to explode. \"I have seen more friends die by my side, I have led a thousand of you into battle and sat beside the Prince in counsel.\" He growls out his last sentence, \"And had you gone through the tortures I have in Umbar and seen what I have seen you would be quick to shut your mouth and listen to wiser men such as Lord Thorondur.\"

Unmoved to action even by this outburst, the Lord Girithlin nonetheless reacts, in his own fashion. Suddenly not displeased, but... saddened, almost. \"There is little I, or any man, can do to help one who will not be helped himself. Come, Drenlyn,\" he says a bit more sharply, turning toward the door.

\"I see that the Haradrim have taught him their stubbornness. There is nothing we can do for him, not now.\"

Toward the door then, and yet -- here does Thorondur cast a last, disappointed look at the prisoner. \"Perhaps by the grace of the One, further patience will help him remember the humility that all knights must know for their own. For I fear that in Umbar, he has forgotten it.\"

With s new found fire in his eyes, Drenlyn steps forward opening his mouth to speak, and shutting it just as quickly at the Herald\'s words. With a look of anger, and a hint of pity, Drenlyn follows Thorondur, gazing at the prisoner as he moves towards the door.

Torelin turns and returns to his seat, arms folded up to his chest and lies to the ground. \"Humility is easy for those who hold the keys to the cell, Girithlin,\" he calls after him as the door begins to shut.

And in reply comes the clear voice of Thorondur, filled as ever it is with light and liquid hope, even after the door slams shut:

\"The things hardest earned are seldom done with ease, my friend. And yet, it is these that are sweetest, and most dearly treasured.\"

And then there are receding footsteps, and they are gone.