(Archive) - Borgilas and Ivriniel

Elendor - Thursday, September 07, 2000, 11:12 PM

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Weather: Clear

Time: Late Night

Season: Spring

Date: Mersday - April 5, 3021

Real Time: Thu Sep 07 20:32:58 2000

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Office of the Seneschal

The chamber here is neither impressive nor ostentatious--far from it, in fact. The carpet that covers the cool stone floor is thin and somewhat threadbare, a work of southron make in faded red-and-gold. Upon it rests a broad-topped but rather battered desk, tucked against the southern wall directly beneath the high arched windows set at waist-height in it.

Most of the rest of the room is crammed with shelves that are lined with books, trophies of past wars, with a few small marble busts tucked in for good measure. The only concession to true ornament is a silk banner of black emblazoned with the flame of Bragollach, hastily tacked onto one of the walls, where it hangs somewhat lopsidedly.

The room is lit at night chiefly by a pair of bright lamps set near the Bragollach\'s desk--casting the rest of the in shadowy gloom it seems that the paper-strewn desk is the\'s center of importance in the Seneschal\'s mind.

Contents:

Borgilas

Obvious exits:

Door

books

Upon the shelves you see many volumes in various scripts--in the sinewy Sindarin, such titles as \"Amroth and Nimrodel,\" \"The Last Alliance,\" \"Atalante\", and \"Imrazor the Golden,\" stand out. The more blocky Adunaic runes spell out other titles--\"Hi Akallabeth,\" \"Battuanzor,\" and even \"Ar-Pharazon.\"

Alongside these are a myriad of works whose spines are labeled in the common Westron alphabet, the subjects ranging generally from history to strategy, with a handful of literature and philosophy for leavening.

trophies

A curious and seemingly unrelated collection of objects scattered among the books, but plainly of some value to the Seneschal: a segment of broken Mumak tusk a chipped dagger of rather mediocre make a woman\'s kerchief of black silk embroidered with small blue-and-white stars a navigator\'s sextant, next to a pinkish-white conch shell a handful of arrowheads in a small glass dish, and finally a plain-looking winecup.

busts

There are six of these, all apparently from the same maker\'s hand, and meant to be a matched set. Each is about a hand in height, carved from white marble and set on a black base inscribed with a name in Sindarin. Beren and Luthien next to one another on the Seneschal\'s desk, each looking into the other\'s eyes and wearing a secret smile Galador the elf-child stares into some sea-breeze from his position as a bookend, hair blowing back to reveal his faintly curved ears, while Imrazor the Mighty in his war-helm stares sternly at visitors to the chamber from a table placed near the entrance. The last two are Amroth and Nimrodel, each placed on a separate sill of the great windows, gazing forlornly across the distance that separates them.

[Borgilas(#22134)]

It is dark, here in this musty corner of the castle, dark and damp at the witching hour of mid-night. The lamps atop the battered desk flicker fitfully in a chill breeze wafting from one partially-opened window, casting frenzied shadows about the rest of the room.

The occupant of the desk, however, seems to pay them little heed he scribbles furiously upon a wood-framed wax tablet, pausing then and sticking the end of his writing-stylus thoughtfully into his mouth as he leans in to inspect his latest handiwork, squinting and leaning towards a lamp. Nodding to himself, he sets the wax diptych atop a tall pile, and selects a new one from a drawer.

The slow padding of footsteps whisper softly against the cold stone floor of the corridor as Ivriniel makes her way to the office of the Seneschal. The candle held aloft in her left hand flickers as a cool breeze forever seems to draft through the citadel. Pausing outside the closed door, the Princess bows her head for a moment as if in deep thought and then her hand raises to knock upon the door and then...pauses again.

Finally, the knuckles of her dainty hand rap upon the door, her face eeriely illuminated by the flickering light of the candle as she cups her hand around the flame to protect the glow of light in this dark, musty corner of the castle. Nervously, she clears her throat as she looks back and forth, impatiently awaiting a response from Borgilas.

[Borgilas(#22134)]

At the woman\'s touch, the door swings inward--it was not latched, it seems. Though old and stout, the door is well-kept the hinges are silent, oiled, and it opens fully halfway before stalling and coming to a halt.

\"Stand and be recognized!\" comes a hoarse call from a voice thick with disuse.

Gasping in surprise as the well oiled hinges of the old door silently swing the door to a half open position beneath her knock, Ivriniel blinks in surprise at the hoarse call from within. Bringing the candle up to alight her face she says softly,

\"Tis I, Lady Ivriniel.\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

A mutter, almost inaudble--almost--follows the woman\'s declaration. Then a shift, a creaking of a chair, and footsteps, halting footsteps as the man makes his way across his threadbare carpet to throw the door open fully.

Gone is the usually spotless attire--this tunic bears stains from ink and soot, as do the man\'s thick hands. He squints in the glare from the candle--glare indeed!--and scowls slightly at the woman\'s face.

\"My lady,\" he says at last, his voice still hoarse, prompting a loud clearing of his throat.

\"Enter.\"

He sounds less than ecstatic, and yet waves the way in, standing aside.

A flicker of amusement lights the silvery grey eyes of the sister of Imrahil as she takes in the appearance of the Seneschal. One eyebrow arches sharply as she looks to the tunice bearing the stains of ink and soot and then to the face of the old Knight, silently questioning. A curve of lips sends a glimmer of a smile, perhaps forced, but a smile, none the less as she steps onto the threadbare southron carpet.

Ever curious, Ivriniel sweeps past Borgilas and then glances to the shelves crammed with books, trophies and other miscellanous items. Pulling her skirts close so as to not stain the white satin with the obviously musty dirty chamber Ivriniel picks up a tome and blows the dust from the jacket and says over her shoulder, \"Quite a fascinating assortment of articles you have hear Borgilas. I must say, some rather surprise me.\"

Borgilas moves past the woman, closing the door in her passing, to stand nearer his desk. His manner is strange feral, almost, in the dim light, protective before his cache, an animal in its den.

\"Surprise thee?\"

The tone is slightly offended. \"Surprised, then, that I am a man of learning?\"

The tome of \"Amroth and Nimrodel\" still held in her hand, Ivriniel turns to face the Seneschal and asks, \"Must you always take the defensive when we meet?\" Her free hand waves to encompass all of the items on the shelves as she says, \"I am well aware that you are a man of learning, but these items---these items speak to me of a man of sentiment. Irregardless of how he may try to hide it from view.\" Reverently the tome is replaced on the shelf as she says, \"Tis a sad story, I can envision Amroth disappearing in the waves of the sea. Can you not?\"

Running one slender finger along the tusk of the Mumak, the sister of Imrahil says, \"Umbar---My curiosity of those that reside there is of a morbid sort. Hatred blending with a curious wonderment of how one can serve such evil.\" Shaking her head as if to ward off the demons of past association Ivriniel lightly touches the silken kerchief and then a smile of honesty curves her lips as she asks, \"Who\'s kerchief is this?\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

Brusquely, the man moves forward to snatch the scarf from the other\'s grip. \"It...\" He clears his throat then, and tucks the object away. \"It is a favor long ago granted, and not soon after regretted, methinks.\" Glancing to the mumak tusk, he adds, \"And Umbar, milady, is not so easily demarcated as thou hast done--there is evil there, to be sure, but it remains yet a great Haven, and there are those whose lines rival mine--and thine--in their antiquity. Be not too hasty in dismissing the men...and women...who live therein.\"

He sighs, then, and turns away, limping back to his desk and removing the kerchief once again.

\"Sentiment, then, is a surprise? I have heard tell that I am called now the \'Dragon of Dol Amroth\'--doubtless more poison disguised as honey dripping from the Girithlin\'s forked tongue...\"

The silken kerchief snatched from her fingers so quickly leaves a look of shock upon the countenance of the Princess. A flush of colour tinges her porcelain skin as she turns her back to the Seneschal and continues to admire the items on the shelf. The busts sitting on one shelf are lightly touched as she replies over her shoulder, \"A Haven? Be that it may be to some, I see it not as a haven to any Gondorian, as all I have heard is atrocities suffered at the hands of the Southron.\"

Shrugging her shoulders as if in dismissal of the Haradrim, the sister of Imrahil affirms, \"Yes. Sentiment from you does surprise me.\" And honesty begs her to also affirm, \"Yes, you are called the Dragon of Dol Amroth\", almost indifferently she again shrugs one dainty shoulder and replies, \"Do you not find it approriate?\" Chuckling as the Lord Girithlin is mentioned, Ivriniel says, \"I dare say the two of you shall have a difference of opinion until the day you die.\"

[Borgilas(#22134)] \"Dragons are creatures of legend, of ill-remembered history. I am a creature of the present, of flesh and blood he seeks to dismiss me with humor I shall not go so quietly.\"

He sighs, then, and moves behind his desk once more as the woman continues her perusal of his \'exhibits\'...

\"In sooth, the man\'s merely a fool and a braggart he\'s got a good head on his shoulders, and a strong sword-arm in the service of the Prince. If only his mouth were not so active, I might have found that I liked him. And...of course, the Princess...\" He trails off then, idly sorting through a stack of diptychs with scribblings on their wax from his labors during the day.

\"You see, even \'dragons\' care for nestlings.\"

\"No one cares to be dismissed, either with humor or brusque words. I suppose it is the nature of man to crave acceptance in all forms from those we deal with in our lives.\" Her perusal of his personal items suddenly of no interest as Ivriniel turns from where she stands and stares at the Seneschal in silent contemplation. A flicker of emotions can be seen playing across her face as the man speaks of Thorondur and then the incredible warmth that floods her face at the mention of her niece--- is a beauty to behold. Stepping forth, in front of the desk of the elder Knight, the daughter of Adrahil says softly, \"There has never been any doubt of your love and devotion to my niece.\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

The other glances up in the dimness, his eyes hooded. Uncharacteristically, he says nothing for the nonce.

\"It may be,\" he avers at last, \"That I have ill-judged thee, High Lady.\"

The admission is grudging, but seems genuine for all that. \"And yet, I must claim thee wrong--for the Girithlin himself thinks my efforts on behalf of Lothiriel nothing more than a petty vendetta against him--pah! As if he would be worth the effort!\"

Surprise flares quickly in the sea grey eyes of the Princess and then gives way to warmth as she regards the elder Knight. Silence looms for a briefness before she finally brings words forth again and says, as her head shakes in denial, \"Thorondur has not the experience of seeing your protectiveness of Lothiriel when she was ill and carrying the Golden Knight. The way you buffered her from ill remarks and harm whenever possible.\" Her words are deadly calm as she says, \"He may carry a love for the woman that Lothiriel is, but I know---the devotion and caring that you have for my kinswoman is unwavering and will never harm her.\"

\"Which is more than I can say of his -caring-\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

Surprise is evident now, in the dim lamplight, on the man\'s face. \"Then thou dost not approve of the Girithlin and his puissant ardor, resurrected from the ashes of Lothiriel\'s madness?\"

Trailing one finger along the battered edge of the desk Ivriniel obviously hesitates to answer the straight forward question and then suddenly her eyes raise and she looks straight into those of the Bragollach Lord and says, \"Tis not my place to approve or disapprove of matters of the heart. I would wish for no harm to ever be felt in the tender heart of my niece --- but I cannot make it so.\" Her voice drops to all but a whisper as she says, \"All I can do is be there for the fall --- if indeed there is one.\" Almost conspiratory she says, \"And Lothiriel would be incensed to learn of this very conversation -two that she trusts, not understanding that this very conversation shows the depth of our caring and concern.\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

\"Indeed, think\'st thou so? I have said as much to her so has her father, the Lord Prince, from whisperings I have heard--yea, even from the girl herself. I think she would understand, though mayhap not like it as much too oft has she been the centre of talk in the Citadel of late.\"

Matching action to words, he picks up the black kerchief again.

\"Did you know that I once went to Umbar? I was surprised, in sooth, that the Prince did not ask me to go again...\" There is some new undercurrent to his voice, and he turns to gaze for a moment out the windows. He sighs faintly, then. \"Doubtless he knew what mine answer would be.\"

\"Indeed, she does not like to be the centre of talk and with her frail health-- I do wish she could garner a break from everything\" Drawing in a deep breath, Ivriniel admits, \"She has been withdrawn in the last few months before her illness and then with Thorondur sweeping her off her feet, I find that I have had little chance to bend her ear with my concerns.\" Thoughtful for a second she adds, \"Perhaps with the man off to Umbar....\", her voice trails off and then as if suddenly aware of the words of Borgilas she says, \"You went to Umbar? I wondered when I saw the tusk if that was from a trip of your own or perhaps a trophy for another reason.\"

Frowning as the man turns to the window, aware of a change in his voice but not quite understanding, Ivriniel inquires, \"And your answer would have been...negative, I take it?\"

\"Someday, if it would not be of great inconvenience, I would love to hear of Umbar. My fascination with the place seems to grow by leaps and bounds...every bit of information I can find about the place. I do not quite understand it myself.\"

[Borgilas(#22134)]

Still turned toward the window, the other smiles for a moment beneath his beard, and then he turns, and it fades once more. \"Indeed,\" he answers, more to simply speak than to agree to anything--his mien bespeaks a man looking inward now, rather than concentrating on the moment. \"My answer...? How can one have an answer to a questio not asked?\" He sighs again. \"Regardless, I fear I must cut short my reminesces the hours grow small and march toward dawn, and mine eyes are nearly finished for the night...\" he glances once more at the pile of wax tablets, and winces faintly.

\"I shall have to have Attanil in before noon to sort these...\" he mumbles to himself.

A smile of understanding is given to the man as the sister of Findulas says, \"I know not what brought my feet to your door tonight. The dark of the moon and whistling wind kept me from sleep --- perhaps it was idle worry about those far from home or just the silly notions of a woman --- but I thank you for the conversation, here in the hours just before dawn. Your words have brought a measure of comfort to my heart.\" The candle flickers as she half turns to leave and then says, \"Goodnight Borgilas, may the dawn find you rested. I look forward to learning of your trip to Umbar.\" With that the silent hinges of the door swing as the sister of Imrahil opens the door, the white satin of her gown slowly fading into the darkness.

Borgilas inclines his head silently as the woman departs, lost again, staring out to sea.