Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26210095-20170409032121/@comment-26347028-20170412130355

Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote: Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote: Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote: Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote: Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote: Patrick.vtap wrote: Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote:

Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali wrote:

Patrick.vtap wrote: "Yes... bring him in. But we have urgent things to speak of. The High Admiral has fled the city, presumably to join the damned rebellion. As my closest advisor, do you have any suggestions for the role?" She gestures to the guards to find the court physician.

"I do not have any particular preferences, and indeed, I don't even know where to start. Though, really, it doesn't matter. Whoever we put in the role just leads the ships. He doesn't actually fight, and so long as he can follow orders, it's good enough. Any of the loyalists, really. They're getting fewer, but not yet so few as to not be able to fill such a role.

"On a darker note, again, Your Excellence. I hate to bring this matter so close, but, with your deteriorating health, it would not do to be unable to rule and have no replacement. As far as I'm aware, the Steward is off gallivanting. I wouldn't want any responsibilities to fall to him, for fear of his inabilities." "I hope to reign for many years to come." He says, punctuated by bloody coughs. "Yet it is a fool who does not think of the future. I believe I have a worthy sucessor in mind." "I hope so too, yet it would be wise to name them soon, just to be safe; don't you think?" "Yes, indeed. The Steward is not fit to rule, he cannot properly govern Gondor. The other lords are too ambtious, and the list of loyalists grow thin. You are loyal, and have always provided me with council that is true and just. Who is better to govern then one who is intimately aquainted with the office of the King? You have stood by my side through all of these years, I trust you more then anyone. You will not fail me. You will not fail Gondor." Ioreth stands motionless for a few moments, either lost in thought, or overcome by this revelation. Either way, she eventually composes herself.

"Your Grace... you'd name me? A woman has never before ruled Gondor." "You think yourself not capable?" "No, I just... I don't know how the Lords of the realm would take this. I guess it's the change they've been pestering for, to be sure. I'm certainly most honoured." "They will take it, whether they like it or not. You will do well, and make Gondor proud..." Suddenly, he turns paler, and begins violently coughing again. It looks serious "Get the physician." "Stay there, don't move." She sounds really distressed.

Ioreth runs to the guards this time, and yells at them to find 'the damn physician, now!' She runs after them, herself. The physician runs in. "Your grace, you are ill!"

"You don't say."

"M'lady, he appears to have some kind of interior bleeding. The Red Plague, perhaps? I'll see if I can treat it, the survival rates are low." "As long as they exist, it's a start. Just... do your damned best."

She thinks for a moment, then addresses the guards.

"Get a scribe, and the royal seal." The Physician orders the King to be sent to his chamber immediately. He tries to heal the sickness, but it appears to have no effect. The Red Plague is known for having a close to zero survival rate. By now, it is known that the King is likely on his deathbed. Ioreth follows, dragging the scribe with her.

"Write this; I, Aragost, the Emperor of Gondor - make do with filling in the rest of his titles later, we don't have time - do declare Ioreth, Lady Regent of Lamedon and High Inquisitor, to be my heir in this time of need. Then get him to use his royal seal on it, if you can. If not, I will, as he just relayed those terms to me, and we don't exactly have much time. Speed is of the essence here." Aragost takes the Royal Seal in his weak hand, barely able to hold it, and imprints the Royal Seal on the black wax.

"There. It is finished." He rasps. Ioreth looks down and smiles weakly, before slowly walking out, shutting, and locking the door.

"Sorry," she shouts to the Court Physician, "just ease his passing, if you're still alive within two days, I'll throw in some food. If you survive, well done, if not, I can't risk this."