Thread:Maltalidenta Kwuitidherali/@comment-26295802-20160103210909/@comment-27718380-20160103222556

High Prince Imrahil wrote: See what you think, it presents the lore we talked about in a story format:



Two youths sat upon a stone wall overlooking the Harbor of Dol Amroth. One was Imrahil, a boy of thirteen, future prince of the seaside-kingdom. The other was twelve-year-old Travian son of Travious II, recently made squire to Imrahil.

"I think you'll like it here, Travian" said Imrahil "It's a nice place, here where the mountains meet the sea."

"Indeed, I think I will like Dol Amroth" said the younger "But I'm afraid you'll have to show me around the court. I come from the Northern provinces, you know, and I don't know all the protocol for the magnificent courts of Dol Amroth"

Imrahil nodded

"I know that where you come from, being a squire makes you. . . inferior, somehow, to the knight. It is not so, here. Here, squires are valued greatly, and the saying goes that 'It is more honorable to be a squire to the mightiest knight, then to be, yourself, the second mightiest'. You should also know that as the squire to myself, the future prince of this fiefdom, you will serve no other master until either of us die. When I inherit the throne you will become my right hand, my seneschal"

Travian smiled thoughtfully

"I think I will like that indeed, Imrahil"

Suddenly the conversation was interrupted by female a voice coming from behind

"Imrahil! Travian! Come here, lads, I've made some honey cakes and tea for you!"

They turned around to see a beautiful elf with a tray of piping hot cakes and two small cups of tea. She had long hair as fair as the light of day, and was dressed in a long blue gown. She looked to be around thirty by the reckoning of mortals.

"Ah!" said Imrahil, leaping to his feet and taking the tray hungrily "Thank you, Lady Cal'endurë!"

She smiled warmly and turned away, walking back towards the Tirith Aear.

"Who is that?" asked Travian "She is surely not your mother, for you called her 'Lady'"

"Well" said Imrahil, thoughtfully sipping tea "I honestly don't know why she cares for me so. She lives at the palace and has been as a mother to me, yet nobody knows why and not even my father can remember her coming, for it was so long ago. Even Old Man Bergil says that she's been here as long as he can remember, and that she cared for my father the same way she cares for me."

"What??" said Travian "How many generations has this happened??"

<p class="MsoNormal">"We don't know" replied Imrahil "But its been at least ten, for she is mentioned in the Annals of Tirith Aear then. The Princes of this kingdom have been raised by her for generations uncounted."

<p class="MsoNormal">"And nobody knows why she does it??"

<p class="MsoNormal">"There are rumors, of course, about her being a cousin of Nimrodel, and rot like that, but nobody knows for sure. And none of the princes have ever been against having her raise their son because it is such a tradition."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Wow. . . So the same elf that raises you now, also raised your grandfather and your great-grandfather?"

<p class="MsoNormal">"At least! It does give me a feeling of importance somehow. . ."

<p class="MsoNormal">"But still. . . what an odd tradition. . ." The lady walked out again, this time accompanied by another woman, this one resembling her in a lot of ways, her face was the same except for one thing - her hair. Her hair was silver, compared to the fair gold of the other. The first lady started to talk, about the other.

'Boys, this is Ilmarien, as there are too many 'Lady Alquas' here. She is my daughter, so treat her as you would me. She's only visiting though, and don't expect her to be as I am to you.'

She wore a dress of a lighter shade of blue to Lady Cal'endurë, and her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

'Yes, my lady. And hello to you, Ilmarien.' Imrahil said.

Ilmarien knelt down next to Travian, and looked at him closely. A little too close for comfort, but he beared it.

'The spitting image of his father I'd say, Itallië! So is the other of your husband. And fine young boys they are too!' Ilmarien said, looking at Itallië.

'Well, I've known them for long enough. Been doing much since I last saw you? Any devopments?'

'Well, I only have three of my original company remaining, and my horse died three days ago, but apart from that all is in order. My company swells in number, each hand trained by me. I assure you, they are the best trained of the lot.'

'That wasn't exactly my question.' Itallië sighed. 'My child, I see that you're troubled. What is the whole problem?'

'There is darkness creeping into this world once more, I can feel it. There are whispers of Sauron's return, but they are most likely mistaken. There is however some evil descending upon the Greenwood. Something powerful. When I went near, I found and orc and many spiders. These are grave signs. I fear that Thranduil will not long outlive Oropher.'

'Ilmarien, come inside. Tell me more, this is indeed grave news. Perhaps I shall ride for the Avari, they are strong and they have spent too long in the shadows, far too long. It has been too long also since I have ridden to war, it will do me good.'

And as the two elven ladies walked off, Imrahail looked at Travian shocked. Travian broke the silence.

'She's a warrior? I'd have never guessed from the first sight, and they both look like any other elf I know.' 'Apparently so.' Said Imrahil, absent mindedly. His thoughts were of what was written of Itallië. Surely not all of it can be true? For there was a lot written, much of it talking about her life in Valimar. 'Do you suppose those stories we read could be true.'

'I wouldn't put it past her to be far more than she seems. From that small conversation I gathered she has been to war before in the past. Those stories talked also about some men called the Tauredain, and a war fought against them. Perhaps she talks about this?'

'Perhaps. But what of her training by the Valar. Surely such close connections would warrant a far higher position?' Imrahil said, still deep in thought.

'Well, you can't really judge an elf's age, but I'd say for her to be half as wise as she seems, she'd need to be so old.' A fallacy, of course. But the young see older people as wise, so it seems to come with age.

'Indeed. That just may be so. I'd be interested to see what they say, but I'm sure all will be clear in time. Anyway, we have these delicious cakes to eat so we may aswell enjoy the evening first, eh?'

And so they did, but all was not clear for a while. And a long while at that.