================== Eldarin Calendar ===================
IC time is: Early Afternoon About 2:07 PM
IC day is: Ormenel Heavens-day
IC date is: Orvedui Year's-End-Day
Moon phase: Waning Crescent HIDDEN
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 2 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3026
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RL time: Fri Sep 13 20:02:42 2002
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Erinstar pages Lothdaimoth, Merilwen, and Faye: You have all been approached by
individual couriers and presented with a simple notice to appear by order of
the Royal Herald. No explanation.
Erinstar pages Lothdaimoth, Merilwen, and Faye: Oh, and the Couriers look
/scared/.
Open to the observation gallery above, the timeless chamber of the Royal
Counsel is vibrant, yet ominous this spring day - bright angles of the warm
spring light cascading down, pooling gentle shadows and silence. Leading away
from, or towards, the grand meeting table on both-sides are the rope-bridges by
which this room is reached; upon the end of the westward one, Galindrion
stands, balls of slippered feet gripping the hithlain.
His face is heavy, narrowed eyes beneath single-folded brow, cool hazel in his
gaze as his weight leans against the upper line. No satchel at his waist, only
brightly jeweled scabbard, hilt resting firm in the cross-bodied grip of right
hand.
The glow of the early afternoon settles upon the elven form of a young maiden as
she makes her way up the stairs though the chilly afternoon's beaming light. A
garment of the lightest green is covered by a cloak of a shade of green as deep
as the forest. The lady's hair falls down about her shoulders, filled with
dozens of tiny braids, it is filled with the rays of sunlight that dance
thoughout.
She enters the meeting room, a chamber of the Royals. Bright orbs of emerald
gaze throught the room and as their gaze falls upon another figure within the
realm, the maiden enters. Her eyes look up to him, as she speaks, "Good
afternoon, Galindrion." Merilwen's words are soft as light footsteeps lead her
closer.
The rope bridge from the Great Tree sways slightly as someone crosses it, and
in swaying, creaks where the ropes rub against wood. The curtain is pushed
aside and Lothdaimoth steps into the talan, stopping just inside and looking
around. Dark expressionless eyes land on Galindrion and pass on, stopping next
at Merilwen. In one hand, he holds a crumpled piece of paper. The other hangs
by his side, but a certain tension might be seen in the line of muscles beneath
the thin white material of his shirt. Finally he moves a little farther into
the room, nodding to the other two. "Mae govannen." His voice is as
expressionless as his face.
Hair as dark as the shadowy corners of the underground Laiquendi meeting hall
when the moon fails to show hangs, for once, limp around the fair head of this
Prefect maiden. No effort has been made today to even pull it up in a simple
braid, and so it falls like silk down to the waist of her plain green dress,
its apparent negligible state adding to the effect of the inclement clouds
swirling in Fairenel's grey eyes.
She follows Merilwen into the talan, booted feet making little sound as she
crosses over to the three already there. She mumbles but two words in greeting,
"Mae govannen," before falling silent again, her voice sounding raspy as if it
had not been properly tuned today.
Still darker than the shadows which linger in the corners of the hall,
Galadriel's own Herald sits quietly at the head of the council, a shroud of
foreboding made only more menacing by the pale backdrop of passing Arien.
Black-clad fingers steeple before a stony countenance, elbows planted firmly
with consternation. As the last of the summoned courtiers arrive, they slowly
intertwine and lower to the table while stormy eyes bore into each of the three
arrivals slowly, and in turn. Finally, he offers a slight nod to Galindrion at
his side, and raises his voice to a whisper, "Very well, Counsel. Let us
begin..."
"Indeed and now has the day begun," answers Galindrion, right hand slipping
from sword hilt as to each arrival he proffers a deep nod, left hand still at
his waist as the right lifts again to bring closed fist sharply to his heart.
For those closely kept in his friendship, the lack of smile upon his full lips
would seem dubious - yet there they sit, stern as any other detail of his face
this hour.
"Please mellyn," he continues in deep oaken words, left gesturing about the
table, "be seated, as the first words of the news the Herald and I must share
with you shall certainly meet you each with difficulty." Silent feet lead him
then to sit upon the other end, a bookend to Aracarach. In a sweep, his
slim-lined cape flies up and over the back of the chair, Counsel adjusting as
the ring of metal bumping table-leg sounds in the room.
As her eyes gaze around from each of the figures gathered, she swallows rather
hardly. Turning a bit back to Fairenel, Merilwen's eyes glow. "What's going
on?" The maiden's word seem to tremble a bit as she asks of her fellow Prefect.
Then taking a few steps back the maiden of roses leans back into a corner of
the room, alabaster hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her cloak.
Merilwen's green eyes dart about the room, the silence seeming to answer the
question she asked to the lady Prefect moments before. And then they find their
gaze resting upon the Herald of Galadriel, her hands become restless in her
pockets as her worries seem to take over.
She then takes her place next to Faye as they are seated, and pulls a tied
string to cause her cloak to slip from her shoulders to the back of the chair.
Obviously a bit uncomfortable, Merilwen's eyes downcast, their gaze only
resting up the table in front of her.
Soft booted feet make but little sound as Lothdaimoth takes the last steps that
seperate him from the table and pulls out a chair. Even the faint scrape of its
legs across the wooden floor seems to echo loudly in the tense stillness.
Seating himself, he rests both hands in his lap, his eyes going to Merilwen as
she speaks and then turning first towards Galindrion, and last, Erinstar. Where
they stay, waiting.
If Fairenel's heart skipped a beat or a chill danced up her spine, she shows no
sign of it, except that the hurricane of clouds that reflected in her eyes
today swirls the tiniest bit faster. To her close mellon and long time partner
Merilwen, she offers only a solemn shake of her head to indicate that she too
had not a clue what they had been summoned here for. Perhaps the Prefect has
had a bad day, perhaps she has been brooding over some foul thought, or perhaps
some weird quirk of the weather has turned her mood in a dour spiral, but the
small sigh that escapes her lips as she takes her seat indicates that she is
resigning herself to hear the worst. She sits up as straight as the trunks of
mallyrn that surround them, listening attentively to everything is said, though
her dull expression might suggest otherwise.
The seconds lost to unspoken thought seem to drag on near endlessly, 'fore the
brooding Aracarach deigns to rise from his seat as a towering spire of
solemnity. Dusky lips are seen to arc downwards briefly, a momentary break in
the firm line as he begins to speak with the quiet intensity as he is
accustomed. "Lothdaimoth, Merilwen, and Faye. The Shining Jewels of our Order.
Yet here I stand, betrayed. I must admit, I am shocked by the news my cousin
would bring me, fair and just though his loyalty to friendship might impress
him otherwise. I too would succumb to that bias, but the weight of
responsibility allows me no quarter. Thus, I must now strip you of your rank
one and all, Prefects of the Royal Court no more."
Rising quickly, narrowed brow cocking upon the left to angle towards focused
nose, lips' fullness pursed to near nothing, Galindrion strides swiftly upon
the eastern side of table - the trail of emerald cape waving with exclamation
in its wake. "All matters of greatness, from Silmaril to what deeds lie before
us before this age shall pass," begins the Counsel with all due solemnity heavy
upon rich voice, "are equal in their tragedy and their blessing. You have been
blessing to the rebuilding of Lindorinand that is now Lothlorien of Lord and
Lady's keep, amidst all matters of the Royal Court, until now."
Gripping sword-hilt tightly in right-hand still, meeting the Herald even then
at his side, the Counsel stops sharply, a half-step back and stock still. He
whispers to his kinsmen, eyes unswaying from their gaze upon the gathered
three, speaking aloud only then, "so it is, and shall it be. Cousin, please
proceed."
From their downcast gaze, Merilwen's eyes shot up quickly as the Herald speaks.
The pale tone of her ivory skin would grow a lighter color if ever possible.
The expression that covers every feature of the maiden's face leads to show
that vividly she is in shock, a state of near terror brews within her emerald
eyes. She looks not to Faye, as the normal proceedure when she is troubled, but
her eyes flicker back and forth between the two men in front of her. Eyebrows
of the palest blonde downcast deeply as she appears to be lost in the status of
things. Though she sits perfectally straight upon her chair, her hands folded
on her lap though they break apart to raise a hand to her lips as to cover her
expression.
Lothdaimoth's gaze snaps towards Galindrion, a small frown finally breaking the
impassivity of his face. And with it, questions begin to swirl through the
depths of his dark eyes. Nothing comes to mind to answer them and with a small
half-shrug of incomprehension, he turns his head back towards the Aracarach.
The afternoon sun filters across his still form, backlighting that shows even
more clearly the growing stiffness of his posture. Finally, with the air of one
throwing over caution, he says quietly, "May I ask what you mean?"
Small pointed chin drops as the once-Prefect's mouth opens once, and closes. A
nervous swallow, a shaky breath, widened eyes shot with confusion and fear now
betray the fact that Fairenel's stony countenence has cracked, its once stolid
appearance shattered and the many pieces scattered across Middle Earth.
Fairenel's work for the Royal Court was her life; all else dulled in comparison
to what she felt was her duty to her Lord and Lady, like an old copper penny
next to a coat of shining mithril. So long ago, she had taken to heart
Celeborn's words as he made her a Prefect; she would be called upon to perform
"impossible tasks facing great peoples." She let that become the guiding rule
in her life, never turning down an assignment, no matter how large or small and
seemingly negligible. But now she is accused, of all things, of betrayal? Of
duplicity and treachery to the Royal Court?
The Laiquendi Maiden grips the edge of the table, its solid unmoving surface
providing a much needed anchor for her as she trys desperately to stop the
shaking that is threatening to take over her limbs. Wet shows in her eyes as
the clouds there seem to be ready to release their harvest. She is about to
speak when Lothdaimoth voices her question for her, and so she waits, breathe
nonexistant for the moment as her dreams for the future seems to hang in the
balance.
Long and nimble fingers unclasp seamlessly as the Herald raises a single hand
for silence, fiery eyes flicking towards Lothdaimoth only briefly before he
continues. "I cannot say that I am saddened by this duty which now befalls me,
for I am fully justified in my actions." A subtle flick of the wrist, and he
motions his kinsman forward, intoning almost ritually. "An you all accept this
cup, freely and without coercion, I would ask that you relinquish your insignia
to Galindrion... And accept instead the title of Counsel in the Royal Court."
His final words fall heavily upon the silence, echoing like thunder in the
hollow air as he cracks the faintest of smiles. "And stop looking so grim, lest
one mistake you for a border-guard..."
"Each of you in turn, please stand and deliver whatever sign, symbol or badge
it has been thine practice to wear, so that we may fit you with appropriate
replacement in due time," adds Galindrion, regaining composure after the burst
of laughter that exploded with the Herald's last words. He approaches the near
corner upon his left-hand of the table, withdrawing his sword full from sheathe
in crystal ring, as with all practice and antiquity, he gathers his firstborn
pomp.
Silently he stands, eyes glancing with salute to Herald, as the Counsel
prepares for each, and further signal from his cousin.
Lothdaimoth's face goes blank with astonishment. For several minutes he can
think of nothing to say at all and then finally his mouth opens. What words of
deathless import will he say at this moment?
"Ah..."
The 'word' is almost a croak, certainly nothing to go down in history under the
speeches of the golden-tongued. And the newly-made counsel simply sits in his chair
staring, first at Galindrion and then at Erinstar, apparently unable to move either.
Sweaty hands lose their grip on the table and Fairenel, a Counsel, falls back
in her chair, eyes still wide, hands still shaking. The Herald's last remark
draws the barest of upturn in her lips; she is too shocked to speak, or laugh,
or do anything but sit there and stare, like a young deer barely old enough to
stand who has suddenly come face to face with a hunter bearing a spear. Her
eyes, though clear now, are still filled with water, and a tear actually rolls
down her cheek as she struggles to stand. Clumsy fingers grasp at her Prefect
insignia, and she slowly unclasps it, gazing at it a moment before turning her
eyes to her fellow Laiquende maiden, who now also rises.
"I..." Faye begins, and stops as the lump in her throat blocks further words.
"Thank you, Herald. I am honored."
Passing on further pomp, lest the Herald should choose to take the familiar
path, Galindrion re-sheathes his longsword in slow whisper, the smile and
laughter settling into a golden glow, brightened with emerald eyes clear in
excitement. "Congratulations my friends, and let it never be said that the
Royal Court is less than vigilant in its watch," he says at length, passing
amongst them and retrieving the insignia of each, smile growing brighter each
time he pats the next upon the shoulder.
"If you will forgive me, I would be overjoyed to begin sharing my excitement to
any face whom I might encounter. Blessings upon you all," finishes the
Gwaepedir, clasping hands together, nodding with tip of bow to each in turn,
and running along the rope effortlessly wrapped in mirth to follow upon his
words.
Nodding once more in approval to his cousin, Erinstar then quirks a sly grin at
the newly appointed Oath-Makers as he answers simply, "As I am honoured to
serve with you. Congratulations all, for a job well done." And with that, the
Herald turns and slips away into the darkness of the dawning eve, sable mantle
fluttering in the breeze...