Denethor II
Man
Steward of Gondor
Why do the fools fly? Better to die sooner than late. For die we must. [Mo0:26]
Posts: 8
|
Post by Denethor II on Aug 31, 2009 10:49:23 GMT -5
Invitations had been sent out weeks ago; to all those who served the House of the Steward, from the armed Calvary and soldiers to the tailors and dressmakers, to even the farmers who allotted a portion of their grain to the palace kitchens. To any who wished to attend; or who could afford the appropriate attire to attend. It was a tradition from years past; even the Stewards preceding Denethor II and Ecthelion had held the event. The ball of Midsummer’s Eve.
The great stone hall was changed tonight. Where usually stood open walls and white echos; tonight was filled with elegant decoration, and the scent of delicious feast. Lights and music resonated from the high ceiling, and the guests were already beginning to arrive. Lord Denethor sat at the head of the hall in the great black Steward’s chair, beneath the empty white dais of the king that did not reign. The attendant in charge of the arrangement of music for the evening had approached, but the Steward did not notice, lost in his thoughts as he often was.
“My Lord…” he said, after perhaps a minute of noted silence on the Steward’s part. Denethor’s attention seemed to snap, and he looked sharply at the man, as if having drawn him from an important conversation. Denethor did not answer, but stared deeply at the man, and eventually the arranger continued. “The musicians are ready to begin their pieces, shall I have them start?” The Steward looked beyond the man to the edge of the room where the musicians had been warming up. Music… yes, it is drawing near to begin isn’t it? Denethor was thinking to himself, and lost track of the man standing in front of him once more.
The Lord’s lips curved upward for a brief moment; a look that the younger man had never seen before. Denethor was lost though for an instant in thoughts of a tall young woman; with lovely dark hair and grey eyes. Finduilas. He recalled summers past, at the start of his reign. She had been utterly enchanted at the thought of the music and dance. For some hours her longing for the music of the sea had been lifted, and Denethor’s responsibility had shifted to the back of his mind; and the young Steward had laughed the evening away with her.
“My Lord, shall I instruct the musicians to proceed?” The messenger had waited for some moments before returning to the question, anxious in his own accord that the Steward would be displeased if the events did not start on time.
Lord Denethor’s spirits broke once more. His smile returned to an expression of noble neutrality. “Yes… have them proceed.” He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure; Finduilas still on his mind. She had always enjoyed this event. The people of the city deserved such an evening; especially in dark times such as these. Finduilas would have been pleased had he displayed an even countenance among their guests. “Extend my pleasure and thanks to the musicians,” the Steward continued, then gave the arranger a nod, dismissing him to his duty.
Even the serving woman wore smiles upon their faces and were chattering excitedly together as the waited at the edge of the room for the remainder of the guests to arrive. Nobody would strip them of their duty or reprimand them for it tonight. The remainder of the lights had been lit, and it seemed that only moments had passed before the bright music had begun.
Denethor would remain seated in his chair tonight, at the head of the hall, and observing all of the events; though even in his melancholy state, he would find some enjoyment. He rested his chin upon his hand, leaning on the side of his great chair. His sons, at least, should take some pleasure in the event. They were well instructed in dance; and even as Captains in the great army of Gondor, they enjoyed music. Finduilas had made sure of such. The people of Dol Amroth had always been inclined in manners of music; and his wife more than most. He would enjoy watching his young sons take pleasure in dancing with the ladies in their colorful gowns.
|
|
Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
|
Post by Gilwen on Aug 31, 2009 11:46:48 GMT -5
There was nothing about the palace that would look the same this evening. In her heart, Gilwen knew this. In the past ten years, she had worked to ready every Midsummer’s Ball save this one. She should have known what to expect when she walked through the door. Though this time, nothing felt familiar at all. She was not clad in her serving wear tonight, but a rich silken blue dress with silver details about the waist and neck; a gift she had received truly just moments before from her Faeldor.
He was another reason that this night felt so strange! The Stable Master was at her arm, and escorting her into the palace as a guest—something that had never come to pass for her before! As a servant, she had never been allowed to join the festivities. As a girl, she had always loved and had been enchanted by the very idea of a night of music and dance.
As she and Faeldor approached the palace, converging guests, all clad beautifully and handsomely, graced her eye. My, she was certainly growing excited! Her brown eyes flashed over the crowds, both in wonder and nerves. Then a curious thought struck her. Was it poor manners for her to look upon these noblemen and noblewomen? She was a guest tonight, surely, but merely a servant in a lavish dress. Should her eyes still be downcast? She averted her gaze once more to the man that walked beside her. Her heart hummed within her chest; tonight would be lovely indeed! Her first ball!
Before they had even reached the main entry, the music had begun to play. Such a thing had caused Gilwen’s face to break out into an excited smile—it felt as if she were a child again. Light chatter seemed to carry on about them as they neared the entry, and it all just seemed to add to the anticipation. Never had she entered a Midsummer’s Ball as a guest and attendee! It was a new view of the lavish gathering; for once, her mind was not consumed with chores and orders she was to fulfill for the evening, nor was she wearied from a day’s toil of preparations.
She was fresh and rested, something that had become rare in her life.
Flashes of color from dress and tunic, music finally unadulterated and crisp—the lovely decorations of the room! Oh, indeed such a thing was positively lovely! Nothing about this seemed familiar, though countless times she had been in this room herself. It was warm, full of life. People were already beginning to mingle with one another and offer greetings and salutations. To Gilwen, this room held quiet. Now, it was anything but. She looked up to Faeldor once more, grinning excitedly still. Everything looked so lovely!
She recognized faces of the girls along the walls, and for a moment her excitement and thrill diminished into nothing and she simply studied them. They were speaking quietly amongst one another. She mused it was on the attendants dress and manners that they gossiped over this evening—it was a common critique come the eve of the dances and feasts. It saddened her a slight that they were going to spend the night working. She, of all people, understood how mundane and stressful it could be. She looked away quickly, noticing that a few of their eyes had fallen on their entry as well. Oh, she could not bear to face them as she was. Even clad as a lady, she could not shake the feeling that she should not look upon them. She took a deep breath to calm her growing nerves. Tonight was supposed to be a night of joy! Faeldor’s birthday evening would not be spent with her in a fluster.
|
|
Dervorin
Man
Knight
Forward, Men of Gondor![Mo0:0]
Posts: 26
|
Post by Dervorin on Aug 31, 2009 13:34:37 GMT -5
Was it so strange, that on this night of festivities, Dervorin was alone? Not to himself, but apparently, many of his comrades believed so. In the weeks prior, many of the other Knights of the White Tower had been attempting to convince Dervorin to find a lady to take with him to the ball. And, as they would say, it wouldn't be hard.
A lady, to be on his arm this night. Had he wanted it, Dervorin could have asked any woman he wished, and they would have said yes. But Dervorin was not such a man as too ask just any lady to be his for a night. No, he had but one in mind, one that had not him in hers.
But, no matter. Dervorin was fine alone. In fact, he truly preferred it that way. His heart was something that he'd rather remain his own, and no one elses. As hard as such a thing was to do.
As he walked along with numerous couples, clad in the most expensive of clothes, Dervorin couldn't help but snicker. The rich were quite hilarious All trying to out do the other. It was a game that the Knight had never joined. And one he had no wish to join at all. Compared to the other guests, Dervorin's attire was quite plain. But, like the rest of the Knights, he was not wearing party clothing. Instead, he wore his ceremonial uniform: A dark blue tunic, with black leather armour beneath.
His dress was fine by him. It suited his wishes for the night. For Dervorin did not plan to dance the night away like so many others. Indeed, he was only here because of two things: because he was a Knight, and also to keep an eye on Durion. It would be just like that swine to use the Ball as an excuse to start trouble. Should the fool step out of line, and Dervy was sure he would, swords would cross.
In truth, though Dervorin would have denyed it had any one said it, there was a third reason: He was looking out for both Gilwen and Miro. For the former, the reason was obvious. He had like her since their childhood. But Miro? For some reason, Dervy felt drawn to the young princess. And not a true attraction either... more like the feeling a bodyguard gets when he stands with his employer. Either way, he would watch out for the two of them, and hopefully be able to humiliate Durion... as hard and daunting as the idea would seem.
He walked through the open doors into the hall, nodding to the door guards, both of whom he knew. Tonight would prove interesting, that he was sure of... What would make it so, however... that was yet to be seen.
|
|
|
Post by Princess Miroesa on Aug 31, 2009 19:58:27 GMT -5
Miroesa happened to be quite on a good mood this one special day. Today was the day where they would have a dance! She loved dance, and if they wanted to see her happy around the palace, they would surely be pleased with the sight they had at the moment, for once since quite a while, she was smiling and forgetting about those events that happened a few weeks ago back in Dol Amorth. She was so happy that Denethor had thought about organizing that event! She would have to thank him on that when she would see him. But first, her maids were finishing the preparative for her looks. Putting make up and finishing her hair. She was wearing a beautiful royal blue dressed where silver flowers were printed on as a pattern. Long sleeves were reaching the ground; for she wasn’t one of the tallest but still it suited her beautifully. Miroesa had ordered one to that seamstress lady Arien to make her and she was quite a wonderful person. She would have to give the word to a few nobles if they wanted to have their grown beautifully made. A maid finished her make up, by coloring her lips with a light pink lipstick for the occasion, while the other was finishing to curl her hair up and decorated her hair that were now upswept in ample curls, and spotted with lovely blue flowers. Once the maids put Miroesa’s shoes the little princess stood up gracefully; which was strange considering the kind of kid she used to be, hyper and hard to dress up. For once, she was obeying. A smile light up her lips as she looked at the two ladies who seemed satisfied by their work. “You look lovely my dear princess. Everyone is going to be amazed by how beautiful you look tonight.” they said in unison while bowing and letting her go to the great hall. “I love what you did! Thank you! You have the rest of the evening off!” she exclaimed while walking out of her room, to where the ball took place. It took to the princess a few moments before she arrived at the scene, people turned around to see the blonde princess making her arrival. She smiled as people bowed at her while she headed directly to Denethor. She had to thank him! Her smile grew wilder as she went up to the old man. “My lord, you had a wonderful idea to organize this dance!” she exclaimed happily. Miro’s Dress =D CLICK!
|
|
Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
|
Post by Faeldor on Sept 1, 2009 18:40:31 GMT -5
The Stable Master stepped tall and proud into the Great Hall. He could not be more pleased at the moment; being seven and twenty on this day, with leave from work, and the loveliest woman he had ever known in his arm. The music delighted him as they entered the stone walls. People were already milling about, politely conversing and introducing each other; delighting over the events that would happen this night. As soon as he entered, his eyes were drawn to the far end of the hall where the Steward sat, overseeing his pleasantries. Lord Denethor seemed out of place; dressed in black robes amongst the colorful dresses, and his face solemn and noble. The young Stable Master wondered what could be on the mind of the Steward this evening, though knew better than to approach and ask, and instead turned back to the crowd, and then down to the woman at his arm.
Faeldor could not help but notice some of the hesitation in Gilwen’s eyes as she glanced in the direction of the serving women at the edge of the wall. He looked on them as well momentarily, but then turned his eyes back to her. Perhaps those ladies had once been her friends. Or perhaps they had been the ones to feed into the rumors that circulated about her. Either way; it was of no matter at the present. When the Stable Master finally stopped walking, he made a point of standing between his lady and the serving women, blocking their view. If they were chattering on about his Gilwen, he would not give them the pleasure of looking on her! He smiled warmly down at the woman, his opposite hand covering the one that held lightly to his arm. “You are here tonight by invitation of the Steward, my lovely one,” the Stable Master said gently. “Do not think less of yourself.”
“By the Valar, and I’ve never seen you so beautiful,” he commented pleasantly, seeing the lady now in the rosy light of palace. She looked even lovelier than she had in the stables; perhaps bedecked now by the warm glow of candles and lanterns. The wind had played slightly at her hair as they had walked, but only a tendril or two fell about her face, and it made her all the more lovely. She looked young and noble. “Well… perhaps save that day at the river when you wore all white, with flowers in your hair. But that day you were a sight only for my eyes.”
The man lowered his voice before continuing, that none might overhear. “Tonight I must share you with all the nobility of Gondor, yet I will be jealous of any other man who looks upon you.” And others were looking at her, it was certain. Some heads had turned on their entrance, and Faeldor was certain that men were wondering who this beauty was that entered with him. The Stable Master smiled, and continued to warm his Lady’s hand with his own.
He glanced up once more, toward the doorway. His sisters were not here yet; but the should indeed be arriving soon, he was certain. His mother had given up on attending such events since her husband had passed, but he knew that Miriel and Beleth would indeed come. And Narbeleth would enter on the arm of one of his stablehands. He thought back, a bit ashamed at the matter that he had allowed young Calon to bring his sweet sister here. Calon was quite new in the city, and he did not know him well enough at all to allow his sister to attend with him. But then, Faeldor had been quite taken with Gilwen in the heat of the moment, and did not wish to have his sister tag along with him here. There was nothing to do on the matter now! The Stable Master would certainly keep a close eye on the two throughout the night.
His other sister, Miriel, would certainly be attending with Durion. Thoughts of that man’s name brought a slight flare of anger to Faeldor’s soul, but the Stable Master did well to keep his face light and cheerful. He did not like that Miriel spent so much time with the man, and though she had shown him no evidence of it, he was quite certain that the relationship between the two was not wholesome. Durion had successfully avoided him since the night he had been at his own home by invitation of his sister. Faeldor would certainly have a great deal of calming to do on himself to keep his anger in check should the man show his face within ten feet of him here. Having Gilwen here would keep him in check; he was certain.
|
|
Calon
Man
Stablehand
[Mo0:0]
Posts: 145
|
Post by Calon on Sept 1, 2009 19:13:11 GMT -5
Calon had found ease enough to take Faeldor’s lovely sister by the arm to escort her inside. Or, rather, as soon as they were within sight of the others who were converging he had come to extend his arm. There was, after all, no reason to forsake being a gentleman. It was only proper etiquette that he should be as gentlemanly as he could, and such occasions did call for such care to be taken. Especially with Beleth—Faeldor was, after all, Calon’s superior in his job. But a part of him had found their warm conversing and introductions exciting and nice, and he did not wish to drive the woman away either.
His agitation over his attire faded as more people were around. Every man was dressed as nice as he, if not fancier. A man of wild heart and interests, it was a sight to see the tall young man clad in such fine material as the velveteen he wore. He much preferred leathers and broadcloth to anything, for it was hardy and durable making it perfect for the outdoors. Still, his discomfort and feeling of being “feminine” that came from wearing such things as velvet was unfounded. In truth, the man was quite strapping in appearance, the blue of his tunic matched his light eyes, the silver clasps did well to play with the ample light and his leggings were a darker and stormier shade of blue that almost resembled black.
The music played, though Calon dismissed it eagerly. His eyes instead looked over the attendants. He recognized many of the faces, those of the knights and cavalry of course, and a few of the other men seemed familiar. Still, a ball was completely new to Calon, and in this situation, he did not know what he should do precisely.
So, he turned his laughing eye to the grey-eyed woman at his arm. “Bel, I shall ask you what it is you wish to do first. After all, as your escort I am quite certain your brother intended me to see to your content.” She was more excited about this event than he, after all. He had been able to see that well enough from their brief chat heading over to the palace. Such a stroke of luck, it seemed, that the very bright and sprightly woman had become his company! She was the only woman he had even thought of taking, though at the time he had not even known her name. Perhaps the Valar had heard such thoughts and helped them come to pass.
He let his eyes rove over the people once more and grinned boyishly, and offered a bit more of a jest for the lady beside him; their humor was actually quite similar to one another, as the young man was becoming to know. "I have, I would have you know, already took notice of all available exits, as well as spotted your brother. Just in case an intervention is necessary."
|
|
|
Post by Boromir on Sept 1, 2009 20:53:15 GMT -5
It was not the first time Boromir was to attend the ball. But it was definitely the first one where he felt more like a bodyguard than a guest. But he did not mind. In his youth, Boromir attended many of these balls, eating and feasting, dancing sometimes with his mother. But the time of dancing with his mother was long gone. And after a while, Boromir just lost his interest, coming only to please his father. Not that he disliked the event, he was in fact enjoying this little interlude between the many fights, but the Midsummer's Eve ball had lost its magic with Finduilas, his mother.
During the afternoon, Boromir prepared himself for the ball. Well-shaved, combed, he put on his most beautiful and flashy tunic, matching it with jewels. The Captain of Gondor, the army man, suddenly turned into the nobleman. He looked proud and fierce, like on the battlefield, but this spark of nobility in his blood shone through his gown and gold.
Boromir, unlike many young knights he had under his banner, did not need to find someone. He had promised his father to bring his cousin Miroesa and protect her. Not only would it help her gain back her smile after the loss of her mother, but it would change her mind, allow her to see the people of the court. Boromir expected her to drag him around the entire room. But it was alright. He was a patient man. And if he couldn't take another dance anymore, surely many would take his place.
Boromir knew Miroesa would be taken by servants to the ball, so he came alone. He made a discrete entry, not using the front doors. He joined his father just as Miroesa joined as well, praising his decision of a ball. Boromir allowed himself to study his cousin. For once, the young lady did not look childish but actually of a lady. Perhaps she was a little too enthusiastic, but she seemed to contain herself which was almost a miracle. He approached of her. He knew her candid personality might brighten his father's mood, but it would be only for a while. Denethor was not the man he once was. Boromir took Miroesa's hand and kissed it while bowing. He then gave her his arm so they could go together. He decided to let her choose the destination though, for he couldn't determine whether she,d want to dance or eat first. Or even talk with people.
|
|
Narbeleth
Man
Midwife
Laugh as much as you breath, and love as long as you live.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 143
|
Post by Narbeleth on Sept 1, 2009 21:10:25 GMT -5
As they entered the great hall, Narbeleth's breath was taken away. It was utterly elegant! Just how she had imagined! She had been to the palace plenty of times on errand or to visit her mother or sister at their work, but it had never been so stunning. And all the people! She recognized many of them a nobles who resided on the sixth tier along with her own family; though she was mostly an acquaintance to them all.
The young stablehand at her side had amused her greatly, her whole walk here. It was an entirely wonderful surprise that she had met him again, and that her brother had allowed her attend with him. Though, it seemed to Beleth that Calon had not at all expected to be attending this event tonight. He had been trying to hide in the stables, and stray away from it; much concerned about dressing frilly in his velveteen tunic. She had already teased him about it, and it seemed that she could not stop herself from continuing.
"Do settle down, Cal. Nobody shall judge your velveteen at an event such as this." Narbeleth's voice was smooth and calm. She seemed to sense that the man was concerned about his appearance, and she found it rather amusing. He was likely not used to dressing so; he did seem a rather outdoorsy type. "Look, they are all in velvet or silk anyhow. And that man is even in pink," she grinned, trying not to point, but nodding toward one of Lord Denethor's councilors who was dressed in a rich rose color. "It does seem that his wife selected a tunic to match her own gown."
She squeezed the man's elbow as she held warmly to his arm. "You would never look fine in pink. It would not suit you," she announced to the man at her side. "Then again, you should never have reason, for I would not wear such a color either," she grinned laughingly, winking at Calon.
He seemed to continue on. What a humorous man. He jested in such a way! She adored it, and was glad that he was not plain and boring, as some of Faeldor's friends seemed to be.
"First, Cal..." Narbeleth was slightly unsure. She did not know what to do at a ball, other than to enjoy oneself. She had never been to one afterall. They were both on a first here. "Oh, look, let us go get some wine. And then we can dance and mingle." The woman was all smiles, looking about the room. She was quite entranced by the colors and decorations. For someone who's attention was easily drawn, the room could be quite overstimulating. She waited though, for Calon to lead the way. He was her escort afterall. She found amusement in the fact of having an escort, and would take it to it's full advantage.
"Good though, that you have found the escape routes. They could come in quite handy later if things get to be too formal. And thank you for keeping an eye on my brother," she looked off to the direction that Calon had glanced in, noticing him as well. "He is doing quite nicely though with his hands right now. I should think he will not get himself into too much trouble. Aside, I spend every day babysitting my siblings. A woman wishes for some freedom, at times."
|
|
Durion
Man
Gondorian Calvary
[Mo0:0]
Posts: 72
|
Post by Durion on Sept 1, 2009 21:23:35 GMT -5
Truly, he looked quite sublime that evening. His tan skin was accented nicely by a silver tunic and dress-shirt, matched with stormy-grey breeches of the highest quality. Truly, he had far outdone himself, opting not to adorn the raiment of a member of the cavalry, but rather his class. He wished to, in all honesty, be noticed above the crowd; even the Steward and his sons. His curls fell neatly about his face, which was clean-shaven as always.
Why had the deviant man done so much to dress so well? Finely put, he was looking for a new player in his game. And, though such a reason was secret even to himself, he wished to let a past player see precisely what she was missing in an attempt to make her as miserable as he. Miriel, though, was not on his mind consciously. It would have seemed that he would have been lady-less this evening if it had not been for a last minute occurrence. It seemed Lady Rosiel had needed someone to bring her to the Midsummer’s Ball, for indeed her man of choice had previously committed himself. Or, at least that was what she had told him. In truth, that man would have turned her down if she had been the last woman he could have taken to the ball this evening. Or, so Durion imagined.
Even he detested the wench, though for the reason of escort she suited her purposes. Rosiel was fair of face and body. In fact, it was what the brunette took pride in the most. This had come, partially, from her dealings with Faeldor’s sister, Miriel. Because of such a thing they made a rather comely pair upon entrance. As long as Rosiel did not open her mouth, the attendees would have thought highly of her. Unfortunately, it seemed something that was inescapable. Rosiel, much to Durion’s great annoyance, seemed to need to speak to survive. And how foolish she sounded! Never once had something remotely smart passed from her pretty lips. In fact, on the walk up from her home she had done nothing but prattle on about a certain stable head. Already the evening was going horrendous.
They now stood at the entrance to the grand ballroom. Many people had already arrived, though that was by plan for the lord. He certainly wished to be seen making his entrance. Grandness was his style, surely. He flashed his eyes down to Rosiel and said, quite sharply and sternly, “Please do refrain from speaking for a while.” Neither one of them had wanted to come with the other. Part of Durion mused that the only reason Rosiel had surely said yes was that she and Miriel were having an argument; that, and she assumed that Faeldor would wish to whisk her away from the cavalier like he had desired for his sister.
His eyes flashed around the area once more, seeking the faces of the crowd. There was Faeldor, standing amongst the people. But who was that upon his arm? The servant woman? Even Durion had to admit that she had cleaned up well. Or perhaps he had found someone new altogether. Indeed, this person seemed quite lovely indeed. Truly, it did not matter who it was. Durion was quite set on ruining Faeldor’s evening.
His eyes continued to scan, and he picked out a few more familiar faces. Still, not the one he was searching for. A part of him was disappointed that Miriel’s lovely green eyes had not been seen amongst the sea of people. Still, Durion turned his attention downward to Rosiel and muttered, “Let’s go then,” and began to move into the room, instantly adopting a rich and elegant air and letting a fake—but dazzling—smile radiate from his face.
Many of the women looked utterly enticing. He mused that tonight he would be able to flit from woman to woman and take dances, perhaps more. But first, he needed the clingy child on his arm to find someone else to annoy and cling to. Though, he would not bring her to Faeldor quite yet. After all, such things needed to be handled with finesse.
The princess certainly looked quite ravishing, and her dress gleamed in the gentle candlelight. Many a man would desire and seek a dance with her this evening. Perhaps Durion himself would chance it. Even if she was under the watchful eye of her cousin. The Captains were rather dull, to this nobleman. They fought for Gondor; the fools. Did they not see it had already been lost?
|
|
Denethor II
Man
Steward of Gondor
Why do the fools fly? Better to die sooner than late. For die we must. [Mo0:26]
Posts: 8
|
Post by Denethor II on Sept 2, 2009 8:51:33 GMT -5
A bright young woman startled the Steward. It took him some moments before he recognized her; for she was dressed quite lovely, and her face held a smile that he had not seen since he had attended her here.
“Lady Miroesa,” he greeted her finally, a smile gracing his face. Who would not smile at such a beautiful young lady standing before them? She had attended balls here in the city before; but she had been much younger, and with her parents. He reached to take her hand, careful with his own words, not wishing to remind her of such. He knew the grief of loss, and hoped that it would plague nobody but him this evening. “It is mere tradition that brings us all together this evening. I hope you enjoy yourself.”
Denethor nodded to his son Boromir as he approached to take the Princess. He need not say a word to him; my but he had grown into a handsome young man. The Steward was proud of his son; a fine Captain in the army. He had much ambition, and he was valiant. Seeing his son dressed for the ball brought back memories though. Denethor’s smile faltered as he once more pictured Finduilas; dark haired and elegant, spinning about the floor with two small boys.
|
|
Gilwen
Man
servant
There are times when silence has the loudest voice.[Mo0:0]
Posts: 593
|
Post by Gilwen on Sept 2, 2009 9:25:31 GMT -5
Faeldor had stilled his gentle leading, and Gilwen presumed it was because he had seen her discomfort. Indeed, such thoughts were solidified as he moved to stand between her and the watchful ladies against the wall. She felt as if her ears were burning already with their talk. She felt a bit troubled that Faeldor had needed to sense her distress! She did not desire him to spend his evening protecting her from her own self. They were supposed to enjoy themselves. It left her with a rather discouraging feeling, for sure, though one the lady was quickly comforted on. “You are here tonight by invitation of the Steward, my lovely one.” She offered a small smile toward him, and it remained there as he concluded that she should not think less of herself. So far, the woman was quite proud of the way she was holding herself together. His eyes were upon her and simply pouring love over her in a subtle way and the woman had been able to hold herself from blush or shyness.
None were paying her attention anyway. It was very busy, there in the Great Hall. Nonetheless, the control had not much time to stay in place. “By the Valar, and I’ve never seen you so beautiful.” That was all it took. Immediately her fair cheeks pooled with a pink color. Still, part of her was pleased; though, she would never admit it. It meant the world to her that he felt she was lovely. Even if she did not think she was. Indeed, he mentioned their day by the river when she had been in laden with flowers and freed in her white chemise, and the woman knew that it was not as picturesque as he had implied by his words. “I do believe you are misled,” she offered in a whisper, unable to find her voice. “It is merely the idea that you are the only to have seen me that way that makes you think it.” Her cheeks blazed brighter as she finished her thought, though fought quickly to overcome it. Instead of thinking of that day at the riverbank, she turned her mind to the warm hand that was covering hers.
“Tonight I must share you with all the nobility of Gondor, yet I will be jealous of any other man who looks upon you.”
Gilwen’s cheeks faded in their color, and for the first time, Gilwen felt eyes upon her that did not belong to the women of the serving staff, nor to Faeldor. She quickly glanced around and caught a few men gazing upon her, and she turned away quickly, looking at the floor. “You have no need to be,” she murmured soothingly, and calmly; her voice holding a peace and assurance that seemed alien to her situation. She was, after all, rather elated and excited to simply be at the ball! Such new experiences, to be an attendant, and to draw the eyes of men. The latter was not quite to her liking, thought the former filled her heart with great joy. “I am faithful to you.” She finally raised her eyes to look at him, though with the weight of what she had just uttered her gaze did not stay upon him for long. Instead, she let her eyes look over the crowd once more.
Beleth and the stablelad had entered together. Part of it struck Gilwen as odd; Faeldor was ever so much more protective than that. Still, Narebeleth seemed to be enjoying herself, and it led Gilwen to believe that she was having a fine time.
Up in the front, by the lonely Steward—oh, how Gilwen’s little heart ached for him—stood the princess, clad in a wonderful dress and certainly falling amongst the fairest of the attendees. Her blonde hair looked stunning in the candlelight, and Gilwen for a moment wondered at it. Light hair was ever so rare.
The Captain stood beside her, tall and proud. Gilwen though felt he looked a bit protective. And it was well. None should cause Miroesa any problems if the Cpatain Boromir himself was by her side.
Her eyes moved onward, and soon fell on a tall figure that still remained somewhat by the entrance. It had not even occurred to her that the knights would be here as well! Dervorin stood out amongst the others. There was no way that he would notice her amongst the crowd, though. She did not stand out as he did—in fact, she rather blended with her height. Still, she resolved to eventually see him. If Faeldor could handle her exchanging a few words with a good friend. Inwardly she sighed.
How serious had he been about being jealous?
It was undoubtedly a thought that would come back to her the whole night through.
|
|
|
Post by Keann on Sept 2, 2009 10:24:50 GMT -5
Keann was nervous, he couldn't hide it. It was the ball, that famous ball Arien managed to get him accompany her to. Not that it was that hard...
His father made him make a jewel for her. He - like anyone except the two concerned ones - saw there was something between them. And crafting a jewel for Arien might just be the best way to his those feelings. Keann had no idea how he managed to get the time to make it while doing the tons of orders he got. A ball was the best place to show off new jewels and gowns, therefore, the two of them were very busy. Keann barely saw her since they came back from her hometown.
Still, one day he had to go to her shop to see the dress of a client, he had a peek at Arien's dress. And he had immediately an idea of what kind of necklace would be nice with it. With the help of his father, he did every order, including one from the Steward for his two sons, in time. And during the night, Keann worked on Arien's necklace. Made of polished silver with one stone in the centerpiece, a sapphire, surrounded by white sparkling rocks imitating diamonds. But the sapphire was a real one. It was against the rules of the house, when someone had a low budget or for a gift, they were usually using colored rocks. But how could Keann put a fake rock for Arien? If his father noticed, he said nothing about it.
Keann was sad he could not give himself the necklace to Arien. She had given him a tunic for the ball. He had a richer tunic, but it was worn out, considering he was putting it on every time he had to see nobles at their house. But he was so much work, he did not find one moment to go to her shop, not even to pick her up for the party. So he made a messenger sent it to her. He was sad, he had wished to see her face when seeing the necklace. His heart skipped a beat when he imagined himself pulling up her hair, revealing her white neck to put it on. Perhaps it was just as good that he did not gave it to her...
Clad in his new tunic, wearing nothing else since he never wore any jewels and always felt it weird when he had to, Keann arrived in front of the palace, Arien at his arm. He was shy, and nervous, and he was doing all that he could not to turn red. Arrived inside the room, Keann was astonished. With only one gaze he managed to see who was wearing Arien's gowns and who had his creations on. And the room, oh the room! Keann had never seen it before therefore he was excited and impressed by it. He almost forgot he did not know how to dance.
|
|
Dervorin
Man
Knight
Forward, Men of Gondor![Mo0:0]
Posts: 26
|
Post by Dervorin on Sept 2, 2009 16:56:29 GMT -5
The hall grew quite crowded, as the knight took a place somewhat near the entrance doors. It was obvious that quite a few people glanced at him with interest, but from the chatter he overheard, Dervorin knew it was only because of the usual: His heighth. Figured.
Aside from that, nothing really caught Dervorin's interest, at least until he spotted Calon, the stable hand, with Faeldor's sister. He had meant to have a word with the man, as he knew full well that Calon had been the one to run into the Nazgul. There were quite a few things Dervorin had to ask him.
He started to move his way in his direction, but another man caught Dervorin's attention, and he lost Calon in the crowd. The distraction was the knight's most hated enemy, Durion. He had yet to find out prescisly why he hated Durion, but he did, and that was enough to have quite unknightly thoughts float into Dervorin's mind.
But he knew it would be foolhardy to assualt such a man, especially in a crowded hall filled with half the calvary and numerous Tower Guards on standby. And with Boromir, Faramir, and the Steward at hand, it would be suicide. A pity.
To distract him from committing unsanctioned acts of aggression, Dervorin buisied himself with searching the crowds for people he knew. Of course, it was near impossible, spotting familiar faces in a packed crowd, even if he could see over everyone there.
Resting one gauntleted hand on his ceremonial sword's pommel, Dervorin began his survey.
|
|
Faeldor
Man
Head Stablemaster
Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?[Mo0:1]
Posts: 556
|
Post by Faeldor on Sept 2, 2009 17:04:41 GMT -5
"I am faithful to you." Gilwen's spoke, though he had already known as much. It still filled him with a warmth. "Your eyes alone speak for you, my Gilwen. I know." He smiled. If one thing had changed in the past months for Faeldor, it was the fact that he had begun to understand quite well this quiet lady, even when she did not use her words to communicate. "Though, tonight is an evening that we celebrate together with all of Gondor. I will not help the fact that I must let some of the others dance with you. If all the men of Gondor must dance with you, to see how lovely you truly are, than so be it." He smiled, looking up at the crowd. "And at the end of the evening if I must keep you longer to dance with me in my own garden, it will be done. I know you are faithful." He repeated, glancing at the crowd once more. This time though, he frowned as he looked up.
The Stable Master had not missed the entrance of Durion and Rosiel. Those two wished to be noticed, it seemed as they were dressed flashier, it seemed, than even the Princess was not dressed as fine as Durion himself. Faeldor's blood began to boil just looking at him.
But where was Miriel? She seemed to be missing. It seemed that Durion had escorted her dear Rosiel to the ball, but his sister was nowhere in sight. Faeldor was somewhat relieved, though at the same time he was infuriated for the sake of his sister. He was not sure what to think. Surely though, things would sort themselves out. Beleth was here. Perhaps she would know where Miriel was.
"Beleth has made it in now. But I seem to be missing Miriel," he mentioned aloud to Gilwen as his eyes searched the crowd once more.
Miriel, of course, had her differences with Gilwen, but among the conversation between the stable master and the servant, they were not always speaking harsh of the woman. Faeldor was concerned for his sister; she was his blood relation afterall, and Gilwen heart was taken by any of those who were in turmoil it seemed. Even after all Miriel had done to her, Gilwen had barely said a harsh word about his sister.
Faeldor's grey eyes scowled at Durion. And Rosiel! What a combination! If only both would turn about and leave right now, the evening would surely be splendid. The stable master already felt his muscles set to tensing, and he carefully took a breath and looked down at Gilwen. "I am certain that I should not contain myself if I get near him," he muttered gently to her, lightly releasing her hand to reach up and finger a lock of dark hair. As he did so the back of his hand brushed the side of the woman's neck. "Do your best to keep me away from them for the evening," he smiled down at her.
|
|
Calon
Man
Stablehand
[Mo0:0]
Posts: 145
|
Post by Calon on Sept 2, 2009 17:14:55 GMT -5
The look of veneration and awe that was on Beleth’s face amused her company greatly. At least one of them was impressed by all of this. It was too flowery and ornate for Calon’s simple tastes—give him a fine night with crisp air, a bow some arrows and a horse, and that was the make of a perfect evening. Still, Beleth had mentioned adoring a ride herself—though she was a woman, and would undoubtedly adore gatherings and festivities such as these.
Her spirit was light and energetic, her eyes dancing already in the light, though her body was quite still. She was a fine example of how nice energy was; but my, her tongue was quick with jests! “Look, they are all in velvet or silk anyhow. And that man is even in pink." Calon followed her gaze, and his grumbling ceased, replaced by a quite a merry smile and a subdued laugh. “I dare say, he looks rather upset.” And surely the man did. “Though, it is common for the male lovebird to oblige his lady in any way possible.” He, though, would never humor a woman enough to wear pink. What a girlish color! And the councilor looked as if he was trying to compensate by the way he stood. Quite manly and tall, he tried to seem. It was nor working. “At least my tunic is blue,” he agreed brightly.
“…you should never have reason, for I would not wear such a color either."
His blue eyes darted to the woman next to him. “Do you imply that I should have matched you? I do believe that I had no idea as to what you were wearing this evening, or indeed that I would be attending with you.” His voice was bright and light, characteristic of his personality. And, his words continued. “Is it common for couples to come matching? If so, your brother has missed the news. And so has that one, there.” He motioned ot his head to another man who was standing with his wife, or so Calon assumed. The woman was in a rich green, the man in black. “It does seem he is mourning this event. Perhaps I should meet him.”
"Oh, look, let us go get some wine. And then we can dance and mingle."
Wine? Oh, that was a pleasant idea. “Drinks sound like a fine place to begin. Do you think they have anything stronger than wine?” He mused aloud as he craned to see where the refreshments table was located. He spotted it quickly, and began to lead the lady toward it.
“And mingling does sound like the right place to begin.” He brushed over dancing quite readily, and he inwardly hoped Beleth had not noticed. It was strange for him to have a woman upon his arm. Leading someone with such propriety was generally not Calon’s style. He, by far, was a spirited soul that could not be tamed easily. As such, no woman had been able to hold his eye for long, or indeed get such a closeness as Beleth already had. Still, he could tell she was expecting such out of her escort, and with that in mind, he catered to her. However strange and new it was.
They worked their way through the crowd easily enough and he examined it. Red and white wine they had, some ladies and men clad in service wear were diligently derving the approaching guests. He sighed a bit. “I guess they do not have something stronger. Wine it is, then.” Not even this was truly dampening his spirits. Though, something to make him relax a bit would have been well indeed.
“Would you care for white or red, Bel?”
As he asked the question, his eyes found someone rather tall off in the distance. Ah! Dervorin! What a grand thing to see! Calon, of course, was fond of the cavalry members. They were, mostly, noble men with personalities much like his own. He went to smile at him, though his attentions seemed to have been swayed. To what? He flashed his eyes to the door, and even Calon’s smile faltered. Durion. Dreadful.
He had heard enough about him and seen his character himself. He was as horrible with people as he was with horses. That was someone he would just avoid for an evening. Undoubtedly, Beleth would detest his company, too.
|
|