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Thread: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

  1. #1
    Lucius Malfoy's Avatar Pure-Blood
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    Default Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Upon the three hundredth and fortieth year since the death of High King Aragost, later Hyarmendacil II, the great-great-grandfather of Eldacar II, the Steward of the Reunited Kingdom and the Council of the Scepter put much coin and effort into a grand triumph for all denizens of Minas Tirith to witness. The date of the triumphs event was the commemorate Aragost's great siege of Umbar that witnessed its capture and earned his moniker. He has since been immortalized as the Undefeated King and the Ever-Victorious Ruler, for all of the Reunited Kingdom know of his towering deeds and unrivaled prowess upon the battlefield. All of this was in an effort to raise the morale and mood of the capital, the kingdom, and their ruler. The Crown Prince, after all, had died at Umbar, some fifty years ago. Ever since then, the High King's condition continued to rapidly deteriorate, causing stress for all of the realm.

    Upon the auspicious day, soldiers were gathered from nearby garrisons to augment the soldiers stationed within the capital of Minas Tirith. The banners of the warrior king, the emblems that saw many battles throughout his long reign, were unrolled and displayed for all to see. A great commotion of trumpets blared and drums were batted as the soldiers marched through the streets, celebrating the victories won by Aragost. It was a grand spectacle for all to witness and rejoice in. The Reunited Kingdom really needed this uplifting event, for the Dark Days of Eldacar II were a somber affair for the Kingdom. The question was... would it be enough to bring the High King from his isolation and join his people? Only time could tell.

  2. #2

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    This sucks.

    The steward tried to rein his discontent. Not only had they to, secretly, commission several new flags, because some of the old ones had rotted, riddled with moths and magots -ironic-, in the very long years since they were paraded the last time -none would notice either way-, but, also, they had to spend a fortune in public banquets and decorations and what not. But so be it. The celebrations had been a great chore since someone, Valar bless his idiocy, has suggested to organize such a feast; the steward even had to pretend he cared about that. The king wouldn't care anyway. He never did. Useless sobbing mess. They could place a pig dressed in black robes instead in the throne, at least it would shriek and do something besides mourning his wife.

    I mean, she's my sister, but she's long gone anyway, a thrice-damned pox got her good, what can a man do? I guessed that... what, seventy years of mourning were enough, but no. And then my nephew... who in Arda thought the Haradrim would to that? Cursed swine.

    He was walking at good pace through the frescoes-covered hallways, grunting at servants and clerks. Ecthelion even had to apply his minor seal on a document, on the run, because, gods be gracious, the prices of wheat were getting out of hand in Edhellond. But no, he couldn't focus on bussiness cause the triumph had to be celebrated. Again. What a poor excuse of a celebration. Most the conquests were lost or in the bringe of disappearing into thin air. Once in his bedroom, his pages tried to dress him up for the ocassion: a black long tunic, a black long mantle lined with ermine, a short mail shirt to pretend this was a martial celebration, a sword in a jewelled scabbard and some other crappy, fanficul that he never ever wore. Wool was good and warm enough to waste time wearing anything else, like some peacocks, some fops in the court liked to. The only thing he added himself to his attire was the horn, in a baldric. Flickering pride danced through his eyes as he fastened the belt with the hanging horn, white and silvery, with a running vein of mithril on both sides, where once it had been broken in half. Like the kingdom. Now whole. He allowed himself a mirthless chuckle.

    Like Arnor, that backwater barren , ever mattered.

    He looked himself in the mirror of polished bronze. He looked tired albeit regal. But he didn't mind, it was just a mindless stare at his own reflection. The steward barked more orders and started to lower down the staircase, soon leaving the halls of the kings and entering the Fountain's courtyard. The stern gazes of several stone kings and stewards fized on the black-clad figure of the current holder of the later title. The White Tree was flowering, petals dancing on the running water. The guardsmen stood silent around it. Ecthelion just stood there for a moment, waiting for men in his livery, a special detachment of the Citadel Guard, to catch up. The banners were fluttering.

    Windy. Now the cloak is going to be such a pain in the rear, whole day.

    He said, while the mantle wavered, weighting on his weary shoulders. At least he hoped the clasp would hold. It would be embarrassing if not. The steward approached the merlons in the walls, looking below, to the six other levels, already getting crowded. The main gates were openned, visitors still coming.

    "Where is my horse?"

    He said, the raspy voice cuting the air. A caparisoned horse was brought, in black and white, embroidered with many r-nd-r, arandur, king's servant. Ecthelion mounted with a grunt, the esquires of the household making sure his spurs, sword and cloak were in place. Then, they started going lower and lower, through stone-paved streets and barbicans, accross the cheering populace. The steward was wearing his best smile, wavering a glove-clad hand, surrounded by the tall spears of his guardsmen. Horns signaled the waited event that would kick in the day's parade: the steward arrived to the square beyond the main gates and he waited for Dol Amroth, who theatrically arrived at an appointed time. Everything planned to please the smallfolk of course. He stood there, dark and somber in first sight, but with glittering mithril under the mantle and over the doublet. Both hands of the saddle's pommel, which was made of wood and steel, tall and heavily decorated.

    Valar be merciful, this ceremonial saddle is terribly uncomfortable.

    He frowned a little and grunted again. His sons would surely be somewhere in the citadel, frolicking, waiting for the main celebrations, while he had to welcome the western prince. As there weren't more important bussiness to attend besides holding a pointless parade.
    Last edited by Oznerol; June 16, 2019 at 09:05 AM.

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  3. #3
    Gandalfus's Avatar Outlaw from the West
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Silver trumpets blared as the heralds foretold the arrival of Dol Amroth, shortly followed by at least a hundred glittering Swan Knights riding through the city gates, various banners flapping in the breeze, standards and trophies captured in wars long past dragged behind them as the crowds cleared a path. It was as if the Prince himself was the celebrated victor of centuries past, riding at the forefront of this triumphal column in full military regalia, gleaming in jewel encrusted mithril and gilt-edged plate - worth more than the entirety of the southern provinces combined - surrounded on foot by servants and page boys that threw petals down where the hooves would trample. Minastir wore no helm, his dark, shoulder length hair groomed to perfection, framing a narrow face that remained handsome despite the slowly advancing years. He was a man very much in his prime, and liked to remind his ageing cousin of the fact. The Prince raised a hand, and procession halted abruptly before the Steward. Though the plate was chafing on the saddle something awful, his smile remained immaculate.

    "Ecthelion. You are looking better than when we last met. Congratulations on preparing such a grand celebration."

    Minastir leaned forward in the saddle, as if to get a closer look.

    "How fares the king? Will he be joining us for the festivities?"

    They knew the answer already. Eldacar being seen by the smallfolk was an embarrassment. It was like letting loose a senile uncle, doddering around not knowing one day from the next.

  4. #4

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    The steward's banners were plain and white, made of silk but unadorned. They were dancing with the potent breeze.

    Arrogant fop of a cousin.... Wish you turn bald. As pretty as his useless grandfather.

    The steward thought, while smiling on the outside. Family or what not, Dol Amroth could be irksome. And talking about irksome things... He wanted to itch that-part-of-the-back-where-it-loses-its-name, but he shouldn't do that in front of crowd.

    This is gonna be a loooong day.

    Bare-headed and in his black robes, not matter how expensive, he looked like a servant next to Dol Amroth. But that was the point and the embroidered r-nd-r, king's servant, pointed as much. To everyone that could read three letters in a row, though. And the others would just know from seeing those all day.

    "Haha, you have to check your eyesight, cousin, might not be as good as it used to, eh?"


    His chuckle wasn't all too happy. But at least he tried to be somewhat funny.

    "I welcome thee to the City of Kings on behalf of His Grace Eldacar II, High King of Gondor and Arnor, etcetera"

    Ecthelion had to avoid rolling his eyes on the mention of his sovereign. He couldn't be bothered saying the whole list of titles.

    "Our lord's mood is apparently excellent this morning and we will surely enjoy a happyful day of festivities"

    At the expense of the ing treasury.

    He sounded formulaic.

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    Mary The Quene's Avatar Praeses
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    "Let them Celebrate for all i care"

    The king hated these festivities immensely. They were never the same since he had lost his wife and son a long time ago. It reminded him too much of those happy times that would never come back. Nay, the king had already determined he would not attend, for the dead had to mourned for.

    "Nay, i will not involve myself in these worldly things" He needed to be with his wife and son, their decorated tombs, not even a royal celebration would change that. He had not the heart to leave them. He just couldn't.
    Veritas Temporis Filia

  6. #6
    Lucius Malfoy's Avatar Pure-Blood
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Elsewhere in the city, a few servants had surrounded one of the nobles that would appear in the parade. They lifted up pieces of armor, attaching it to his person. The Lord of Lamedon stood before a body sized mirror, examining his person as the armor was attached him. Somewhere behind him though was his brother, Caramir. Cúnamir looks up in order to look back at his brother.

    Quite the expense. I hear the Steward wasn't all too happy with it though.

    Caramir nods his head. While the Lord of Lamedon had been out at their family estate the past few weeks, Caramir had been in the city, taking in the news.

    Echtelion is more weary these days... I suspect he is working harder than any other of his predecessors who worked alongside more active High Kings.

    Cúnamir shot him a glare causing his brother to fall silent. Fact or not, wasn't wise to poke fun at the King whose demeanor continued to slip further towards madness and greater heights of depression. Though the sun shined above Minas Tirith, everyone seemed to feel a dark cloud growing over the capital and the whole kingdom itself. Wasn't good for anyone's humor.

    ==============================

    A blare of trumpets sounded as Cúnamir Mirionionath, son of Ostomir and Lord of Lamedon, joined in the gathering of soldiers and nobles from across Gondor. Upon his horse, he paused to look around, trying see the banners of his in-laws, the Halborons. Probably just somewhere beyond the gates. Caramir noticed his brothers gaze before patting him on the shoulder, his head nodding towards the nobles just not too far from where they stood with their guard of heavy infantry.

    I will keep an eye out for our good sister and her family, brother. You go do what you do best.

    The Lord of Lamedon nods, clicking his teeth as his steed moved forward, leading the infantry guard to join the parade. He reaches under one of his plates to scratch his arm, an irritation that had started since putting this armor on. Cúnamir, knowing his etiquette, approached the Princes of Ithilien and Dol Amroth. He bows his head slightly to both Minastir and Ecthelion. Thankfully Minastir had already asked about the High King, no need to ask about that all.

    Lord Steward, Prince Minastir, the sun shines bright. A good sign for all certainly. I even see the smallfolk are smiling and cheering.

    Caramir had given a more grim picture prior to his arrival. Seemed the celebration had done what it was intended to do.

    How fare you both these days? I haven't seen either of you for almost a month now. Forgive me, affairs at Lamedon needed my attention.


    Damnable Angbor, they were still finding errors and faults left behind by him many decades later.

  7. #7
    Gandalfus's Avatar Outlaw from the West
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Oznerol View Post
    The steward's banners were plain and white, made of silk but unadorned. They were dancing with the potent breeze.

    Arrogant fop of a cousin.... Wish you turn bald. As pretty as his useless grandfather.

    The steward thought, while smiling on the outside. Family or what not, Dol Amroth could be irksome. And talking about irksome things... He wanted to itch that-part-of-the-back-where-it-loses-its-name, but he shouldn't do that in front of crowd.

    This is gonna be a loooong day.

    Bare-headed and in his black robes, not matter how expensive, he looked like a servant next to Dol Amroth. But that was the point and the embroidered r-nd-r, king's servant, pointed as much. To everyone that could read three letters in a row, though. And the others would just know from seeing those all day.

    "Haha, you have to check your eyesight, cousin, might not be as good as it used to, eh?"


    His chuckle wasn't all too happy. But at least he tried to be somewhat funny.

    "I welcome thee to the City of Kings on behalf of His Grace Eldacar II, High King of Gondor and Arnor, etcetera"

    Ecthelion had to avoid rolling his eyes on the mention of his sovereign. He couldn't be bothered saying the whole list of titles.

    "Our lord's mood is apparently excellent this morning and we will surely enjoy a happyful day of festivities"

    At the expense of the ing treasury.

    He sounded formulaic.

    "I have brought gifts for both our lord and yourself, cousin. Tokens of my loyalty to our king and affection to yourself."

    Minastir smirked and gestured grandly behind him, a throng of servants bringing forth two bound chests, likely filled with the usual luxuries that the Prince brought with him to court. Silks, gemstones, animal skins from the south, trinkets of ivory and precious metals... They cost a small fortune, but he always had coin to spare. And nothing to spend it on, save these frivolities. But it had won him a fair amount of friends in the capital.

    "I pray that you find them to your liking. And that His Grace does, also."

    He added, after a brief pause. The Prince resented playing a part in this performance that they all put on; pretending that the King knew anything other than what occurred within the confines of his own chambers. Elendil's line, reduced to the rule of a simpleton.

    Quote Originally Posted by Lucius Malfoy View Post
    Elsewhere in the city, a few servants had surrounded one of the nobles that would appear in the parade. They lifted up pieces of armor, attaching it to his person. The Lord of Lamedon stood before a body sized mirror, examining his person as the armor was attached him. Somewhere behind him though was his brother, Caramir. Cúnamir looks up in order to look back at his brother.

    Quite the expense. I hear the Steward wasn't all too happy with it though.

    Caramir nods his head. While the Lord of Lamedon had been out at their family estate the past few weeks, Caramir had been in the city, taking in the news.

    Echtelion is more weary these days... I suspect he is working harder than any other of his predecessors who worked alongside more active High Kings.

    Cúnamir shot him a glare causing his brother to fall silent. Fact or not, wasn't wise to poke fun at the King whose demeanor continued to slip further towards madness and greater heights of depression. Though the sun shined above Minas Tirith, everyone seemed to feel a dark cloud growing over the capital and the whole kingdom itself. Wasn't good for anyone's humor.

    ==============================

    A blare of trumpets sounded as Cúnamir Mirionionath, son of Ostomir and Lord of Lamedon, joined in the gathering of soldiers and nobles from across Gondor. Upon his horse, he paused to look around, trying see the banners of his in-laws, the Halborons. Probably just somewhere beyond the gates. Caramir noticed his brothers gaze before patting him on the shoulder, his head nodding towards the nobles just not too far from where they stood with their guard of heavy infantry.

    I will keep an eye out for our good sister and her family, brother. You go do what you do best.

    The Lord of Lamedon nods, clicking his teeth as his steed moved forward, leading the infantry guard to join the parade. He reaches under one of his plates to scratch his arm, an irritation that had started since putting this armor on. Cúnamir, knowing his etiquette, approached the Princes of Ithilien and Dol Amroth. He bows his head slightly to both Minastir and Ecthelion. Thankfully Minastir had already asked about the High King, no need to ask about that all.

    Lord Steward, Prince Minastir, the sun shines bright. A good sign for all certainly. I even see the smallfolk are smiling and cheering.

    Caramir had given a more grim picture prior to his arrival. Seemed the celebration had done what it was intended to do.

    How fare you both these days? I haven't seen either of you for almost a month now. Forgive me, affairs at Lamedon needed my attention.


    Damnable Angbor, they were still finding errors and faults left behind by him many decades later.
    "Lord Lamedon, we are all in good spirits. You look in good health."

    Dol Amroth gave his counterpart a curt nod and smiled through his teeth. Lamedon was right; for once, the smallfolk weren't pelting the King's Council with rotting fruit. He doubted it would last.

    "I too retired west following our last meeting. The court was too stuffy, and I longed for some open air."

    'Stuffy' as in dour, miserable, and full of discontented gnats that bored one to death with their menial complaints.

  8. #8

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Gandalfus View Post

    "I have brought gifts for both our lord and yourself, cousin. Tokens of my loyalty to our king and affection to yourself."

    Minastir smirked and gestured grandly behind him, a throng of servants bringing forth two bound chests, likely filled with the usual luxuries that the Prince brought with him to court. Silks, gemstones, animal skins from the south, trinkets of ivory and precious metals... They cost a small fortune, but he always had coin to spare. And nothing to spend it on, save these frivolities. But it had won him a fair amount of friends in the capital.

    "I pray that you find them to your liking. And that His Grace does, also."

    He added, after a brief pause. The Prince resented playing a part in this performance that they all put on; pretending that the King knew anything other than what occurred within the confines of his own chambers. Elendil's line, reduced to the rule of a simpleton.

    "Lord Lamedon, we are all in good spirits. You look in good health."

    Dol Amroth gave his counterpart a curt nod and smiled through his teeth. Lamedon was right; for once, the smallfolk weren't pelting the King's Council with rotting fruit. He doubted it would last.

    "I too retired west following our last meeting. The court was too stuffy, and I longed for some open air."

    'Stuffy' as in dour, miserable, and full of discontented gnats that bored one to death with their menial complaints.

    "Splendid largesse, cousin"


    He tried to contain a snort. More trinkets. Right what they needed. Last time he checked they had three warehouses filled with ambassadorial gifts and such. Periodically the steward emptied those warehouses and selled the stored commodities in the market, which provided a hefty income, but few years of waiting were required, least so a lord see in a shop the saddle he had specially and lovingly bought for the king.

    "Much appreciated"


    The steward turned on the horse.

    "The lord of Lamedon, I salute thee as well. Welcome to Minas Tirith, glad to see us all in this joyous day"

    He didn't look happy. Maybe a bit constipated. But that was all.

    "We should all proceed to the sevent level, my lords"

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  9. #9
    Lucius Malfoy's Avatar Pure-Blood
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Gandalfus View Post
    "Lord Lamedon, we are all in good spirits. You look in good health."

    Dol Amroth gave his counterpart a curt nod and smiled through his teeth. Lamedon was right; for once, the smallfolk weren't pelting the King's Council with rotting fruit. He doubted it would last.

    "I too retired west following our last meeting. The court was too stuffy, and I longed for some open air."

    'Stuffy' as in dour, miserable, and full of discontented gnats that bored one to death with their menial complaints.
    Quote Originally Posted by Oznerol View Post
    The steward turned on the horse.

    "The lord of Lamedon, I salute thee as well. Welcome to Minas Tirith, glad to see us all in this joyous day"

    He didn't look happy. Maybe a bit constipated. But that was all.

    "We should all proceed to the sevent level, my lords"
    Cunamir looks first to Prince Minastir.

    Some time away for fresh air is always needed. The smell of the River Ciril was good medicine while I was back home.


    Minas Tirith wasn't like it was back during the reign of Aragost and before. It felt constricting on the lungs and the people seemed to be glaring more than often. At the words of the Lord Steward, he turns back to the Prince of Ithilien and offers a smile. The best that could be conjured up, of course.

    It would be a crime to miss such a celebration for one of our Great Victors.

    At the suggestion of Ecthelion, the Lord of Lamedon nods and proceeds to join the trio, and other nobles, for their march up to the seventh level.

    ===================================

    From the highest level of Minas Tirith, the dark eyes of Kaidu, an Easterling descendant, gazes down at the clamor and horns of the celebration going on below. The Captain of Minas Tirith's own port, Harlond, came for the gathering and not the celebration. Certainly, that explained why his brother was missing. He wasn't all too accepting towards their Dunedain overlords than Kaidu had grown to understand and accept. However, he did have some company, his younger sister, Onya. The pair look down below, listening to everything going on.

    I wonder if these were the sounds of the Dunedain when their Kings ravaged our ancestor's homelands.

    Kaidu spoke quietly before moving away. He rubs his neck slightly, cracking it a little.

    Harlond port was rather congested due to the preparations. Valar above knows how much pork and wine was imported. Good for the port though.

    The Easterling continues to talk to himself while his sister silently listens.

  10. #10
    Jokern's Avatar Mowbray of Nottingham
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    From the outskirts of the royal capital, a small party hurriedly rode towards Minas Tirith. Their leader howled with excitement, feeling the liberty of the cold wind upon his face. Hellenar knew someone important would be mad if he was late to the grand celebrations, not that he cared much of such things. The weather had been excellent for a quick hunt, and he had felled a fine stag for the occassion. Gods be good, he had avoided dirtying his clothes - fine red robes, with the white tree of Minas Tirith on his breast. Over his shoulder hung the heirloom bow of his ancestors, passed down since his Aragost himself.

    The party passed through the gates with a curteous hail to the guards. Hellenar twirled his mustache in delight when he saw the steward in the main square, speaking with some newly-arrived lords. He ordered a few men to ride ahead with the stag to the kitchens for preparations, while he and a few other men dismounted and made their way over to the other lords. Hellenar beamed with a great big smile as he trotted along the road.

    "Noble lords, how it gladdens me to see you here! Pray the gods be good and deliver to us a fine day for this grand occassion. Fare thee well, I hope."

    He turned to the steward. The old man looked as bitter as ever, no doubt worn down by the incessant melancholy of his royal cousin.

    "Lord Steward, my best regards to you. You and the council deserve a celebration of your own for making this day possible. Your tireless work for the realm are much appreciated, truly."

    Next he turned to Dol Amroth.

    "My prince, it has been a while. I hope that you and your kin have fared well."

    Lastly, Lord Lamedon.

    "My Lord of Lamedon, my best wishes and blessings to you as well."

  11. #11
    Barry Goldwater's Avatar Mr. Conservative
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Yet another round of horns and trumpets announce the arrival of the Lord of Pinnath Gelin and his retinue. Clad in green-tinted armor and wrapped in green cloaks bearing the white stars and hills of their home province, Hirluin the Good and his troop looked much like Hirluin the Fair and his men when they set out for Minas Tirith over a thousand years ago...save for the obvious fact that were one to steal a look at the former's countenance, they could instantly tell that he was not his ancestor. Unlike the first Hirluin, this one was entering his middle years and it showed - he had a decidedly plain face with sun-burnt skin, stringy curls the color of mud rather than glossy chestnut-colored ones, and eyes that resembled plain leaves more than emeralds. Still, this third Hirluin mused, he did not feel as dour as he thought he would upon traveling so far from his home, and cracked the occasional genuine smile as he nodded to the smallfolk waving and cheering his entry.

    To Hirluin's right rode a similarly-attired man, but one who was younger and wore a sable cloak decorated with the White Tree and silver stars rather than Pinnath Gelin's hills. This man's face resembled that of his lord, but was fiercer and less friendly, with eyes that blazed like green flames or a field illuminated by the searing high-noon Sun: he could be none other than Hirgon, son and heir of Lord Hirluin, and Captain of Osgiliath.

    The Pinnath Gelin party rides to join the already-present Steward, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and the Lord of Lamedon.

    ------

    Ornendil Ostoherion stared down on the parading lords from the gateway of the seventh level of Minas Anor, carefully taking bites from an apple as he did. These were the greatest and most powerful of his distant cousin the King's vassals, and it showed in the flashiness of their entrances and the raucous cheers of the smallfolk who must be flattered to find themselves among the realm's great lords. The Prince of Dol Amroth's entry in particular was an unmissable spectacle, in his opinion. Ornendil himself dressed to impress, though he did not bother with armor as the lords did: sable velvet that he bought on his last diplomatic outing to Dorwinion, decorated with (of course, what else) silvery stars and the White Tree that denoted his status as both a prominent servant of the crown and a male-line Telcontari relative of the King. That was the reason why he didn't want to eat his apples and peaches quickly - the last thing he needed was to get juice on his clothes on a day such as this. Elsewhere a heavy silver-and-gold necklace with small diamonds for stars around its crystalline White Tree hung heavy around his neck, and boots and gloves of Kine-of-Araw leather (also expensive, and also from the east) completed his ensemble.

    As the lords seven levels below conversed and exchanged gifts (at least that's what they seemed to be doing, Ornendil himself was too far away to hear what they were saying), this Telcontar cousin glanced up at the soldiers manning the seventh tier's gates. When they approached, it was his duty to command the guards to open said gates, as though they didn't know what to do already. Ah well, it was easy and conspicuous work, so who was he to complain? He figured he'd have time to schmooze with the oncoming lords and Prince later during the celebratory feasts, so for now, letting them see him in all the glory presented by his cutting-edge outfit and know straight away that he was of the Kings' blood would suffice.

  12. #12

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Always a quick servants run away from the King, Ethirandir, Lord of Linhir in name, sat solemnly awaiting to see if the King would move to join the festivities. Constantly concerned for his well being, and struggling between his Lord and his Land, his positive outlook on his Kings health grew grim. Proud was his House and family. Sometimes he felt reduced as a Lord in his capacity, but other times he provided input on the goings ons of the Realm. As he was ever present, his insight was informed by a variety of interactions. He longed for the shore and the water however. He longed to be in the field again. His Dúnedain heritage brought a long history of migration and he could feel that calling from his blood. Still he looked out of a balcony considering the current state of things.

  13. #13
    Lucius Malfoy's Avatar Pure-Blood
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Jokern View Post
    Lastly, Lord Lamedon.

    "My Lord of Lamedon, my best wishes and blessings to you as well."
    Hellenar, descended from King Hyarmendacil II, Aravald. In most recent years, since the tragic death of the Crown Prince, Falastur, he, among others, had suddenly risen up and become quite the public face across the Reunited Kingdom. Especially since Hellenar was commander of Gondor's fleets. As the commander of Gondor's armies, Cunamir worked with both Hellenar and Prince Minastir often. From what Cunamir knew of the man personally, he was fond of hunting and forests. A good ranger, certainly King Elessar would have greatly approved. In response to the greeting by Hellenar, Cunamir bows his head.

    My Lord Hellenar, I thank you for your good wishes. How fares your household these days? Well, I hope.

    Quote Originally Posted by Barry Goldwater View Post
    The Pinnath Gelin party rides to join the already-present Steward, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and the Lord of Lamedon.
    Hirgon was intercepted soon enough by Caramir, his wife's brother and the brother of Lord Cunamir.

    It is good to see you and your family here, Hirgon. My brother wanted to come and visit the lands of Pinnath Gelin to see his nephews and nieces, but this celebration called for him.

    Caramir looks forward to see his older brother, the commander of the Reunited Kingdom's armies in Gondor. He always needed a breather with the mounting problems across the kingdom's borders.

    How fares my sister?

    Quote Originally Posted by Barry Goldwater View Post
    As the lords seven levels below conversed and exchanged gifts (at least that's what they seemed to be doing, Ornendil himself was too far away to hear what they were saying), this Telcontar cousin glanced up at the soldiers manning the seventh tier's gates. When they approached, it was his duty to command the guards to open said gates, as though they didn't know what to do already. Ah well, it was easy and conspicuous work, so who was he to complain? He figured he'd have time to schmooze with the oncoming lords and Prince later during the celebratory feasts, so for now, letting them see him in all the glory presented by his cutting-edge outfit and know straight away that he was of the Kings' blood would suffice.
    As Kaidu approached the gatehouse where the parade of soldiers was approaching, the Easterling noticed the presence of Ornendil. A descendant of King Aranuir, one of the kings well known by the Easterlings due to his leadership of the Kingdom's armies against his kin and ancestors. He didn't know if any of his clan fought against Aranuir, that was history that his father didn't seem to know much about or rather not share. He did know the Dunedain as one of the many Captains of Gondor, specifically the fortress of Cair Andros, where his ancestors had settled long ago before heading further south and into the interior of Gondor. The Easterling and his sister move up to join those who gathered at the gatehouse to await the arrival of the marching parade.

    My Lord Ornendil.

    The Easterling says in a deep voice and slight bow of his head. Onya, his sister, did the same.

    You Dunedain certainly know how to throw a celebration. Nothing like the stories my father spoke of.

  14. #14

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    The steward was regally annoyed. These morons were just saluting each other like old friends, noblemen of Númenor... and they they were just foppish entitled little . Now we even had a Telcontar descendant, one of those awful princelings. Gods, they were terrible with all those starry clothes and embroidered white trees and narcissistic tendencies.

    "Aye, aye, many merry meetings, but can we just climb to the Citadel?"

    He was getting exhausted already and it was before noon, and he had to preside a frigging banquet.

    "There are ritual offerings to be made, public ceremonies and whatnot and we're already behind schedule"

    Ecthelion hissed from behind his teeth.

    And there's a chance the royal moron just decided to spend the day crying like a little sobbing mess.
    Last edited by Oznerol; June 17, 2019 at 03:25 AM.

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  15. #15

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Once more, the sound of trumpets and horns could be heard, heralding the arrival of the lord of Tolfalas and his retinue. Mounted upon a Haradwaith horse, Ciryatur would look up at the levels of Minas Tirith and let out a sigh of relief. "I had feared we may of missed the festivities, probably should've just sailed up to Osgiliath and rode from there." he says, recalling how hectic Harlond was with all the additional traffic due to the celebration. Running a hand through his hair, he then nudges his steed's side to get it moving towards the imposing form of the White City.

    The lord of Tolfalas' retinue would enter Minas Anor with several horsemen, each carrying a banner depicting either the arms of Tolfalas or the white tree and stars of Gondor. Ciryatur would follow with his mounted retainers, men clad in scale or mail armor, mounted on rouncey, palfrey, or like their lord, a horse imported from the south. The tail of the formation would be the largest, the infantry compontent, comprised of a mixture of heavy infantry and the lighter footmen the island is renowned for. Several infantrymen would carry banners supposedly captured in the campaigns against the kingdom's enemies to the south along with the banner of Tolfalas. Ciryatur would occasionally wave to the cheering crowd, making his way towards the main square, noticing the banners of several other lords already present along with that of the steward. Upon arriving, he would wait alongside his retinue for the procession to begin, figuring there will be plenty of time for socialization at the feast.

    Last edited by Xion; June 17, 2019 at 03:43 AM.

  16. #16
    Barry Goldwater's Avatar Mr. Conservative
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Lucius Malfoy View Post
    Hirgon was intercepted soon enough by Caramir, his wife's brother and the brother of Lord Cunamir.

    It is good to see you and your family here, Hirgon. My brother wanted to come and visit the lands of Pinnath Gelin to see his nephews and nieces, but this celebration called for him.

    Caramir looks forward to see his older brother, the commander of the Reunited Kingdom's armies in Gondor. He always needed a breather with the mounting problems across the kingdom's borders.

    How fares my sister?



    As Kaidu approached the gatehouse where the parade of soldiers was approaching, the Easterling noticed the presence of Ornendil. A descendant of King Aranuir, one of the kings well known by the Easterlings due to his leadership of the Kingdom's armies against his kin and ancestors. He didn't know if any of his clan fought against Aranuir, that was history that his father didn't seem to know much about or rather not share. He did know the Dunedain as one of the many Captains of Gondor, specifically the fortress of Cair Andros, where his ancestors had settled long ago before heading further south and into the interior of Gondor. The Easterling and his sister move up to join those who gathered at the gatehouse to await the arrival of the marching parade.

    My Lord Ornendil.

    The Easterling says in a deep voice and slight bow of his head. Onya, his sister, did the same.

    You Dunedain certainly know how to throw a celebration. Nothing like the stories my father spoke of.
    "Ah, I'm sure there'll be time enough for that after these festivities are concluded. You know you will always be welcomed at our hearth." Hirgon flashed a smile at his brother-in-law. "Your sister fares well, of course. Our daughters are entering that age where they will soon no longer be girls but are still too young to be proper women, and are growing more restless and rebellious as such youths tend to be - particularly our eldest - so truly, they're becoming quite a handful for her. Nonetheless, little Hirluin remains her - and my - great joy, and easier to handle by far than his big sisters."

    "We may have to visit Calembel at some time, as well." The heir to Pinnath Gelin added, musing. "It would do your nieces and nephew good to see more of their maternal kin. And for their mother to see her home again." Hirgon had gotten the feeling in his last visits back home from Osgiliath that Morien was starting to feel homesick. He didn't blame her overmuch - Pinnath Gelin was beautiful to look at until you realized it was all just hills, forests and rivers with very few towns and people in general in-between. The world beyond was more exciting, even Lamedon which in his experience felt like a larger Pinnath Gelin with slightly more people.

    ------

    "Well hail and well-met," Ornendil greeted the pair who approached him. He could tell from his memories of travels in the north & east with a glance that these two, if not Easterlings themselves, had no small amount of Easterling blood in their veins. "My apologies, but though you know my name, I don't believe we've met. I am, as you say, Ornendil son of Ostoher, of the royal house; who might you be?"

    Ornendil answered the two Easterlings' bows with a nod of his own head. "Oh, is that so? What stories did he tell you of our habits?" The Telcontar lordling smirked slightly. "I assure you that, as the celebration around us demonstrates, we're a lot less grim than we used to be." Even now, with a despondent mad king and no clear heir, the situation for the Men of the West was vastly less terrible than that faced by their ancestors in the late Third Age, or so Ornendil thought.
    Quote Originally Posted by Oznerol View Post
    The steward was regally annoyed. These morons were just saluting each other like old friends, noblemen of Númenor... and they they were just foppish entitled little . Now we even had a Telcontar descendant, one of those awful princelings. Gods, they were terrible with all those starry clothes and embroidered white trees and narcissistic tendencies.

    "Aye, aye, many merry meetings, but can we just climb to the Citadel?"

    He was getting exhausted already and it was before noon, and he had to preside a frigging banquet.

    "There are ritual offerings to be made, public ceremonies and whatnot and we're already behind schedule"

    Ecthelion hissed from behind his teeth.

    And there's a chance the royal moron just decided to spend the day crying like a little sobbing mess.
    "Hail to you, Lord Steward." The Lord of Pinnath Gelin greeted simply. The Steward's words reminded him of how unfamiliar he was with the protocols of the royal court, and he had to remind himself that he was still wearing a helmet to suppress his nervous tic - scratching his hair. With little idea of how this celebratory parade and its associated ceremonies were to progress, or of what the day's schedule looked like, he could do little but let the Steward direct the flow of events per his own plans. "By all means, lead the way, then...but what of the other, tardy lords who come after us?" By the time Hirluin had gotten here, he had only seen the men of Dol Amroth and Lamedon, as well as one of the princelings of the royal house. And he was quite sure theirs weren't the only great houses whose ancestors had fought on Pelennor Fields over a thousand years ago.

  17. #17
    Gandalfus's Avatar Outlaw from the West
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    "Yes, well met, my lords."

    Minastir smirked a little. He had known Ecthelion long enough to recognise the faintly masked irritation. Valar knew the Steward had only grown ever more easy to anger in old age.

    "As the Steward says, let us climb the citadel. I am sure has prepared for us to exchange formalities up there rather than on the street."

    Just as well, he needed to remove this armour. Though magnificent, it was making him sweat something fierce.

  18. #18

    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    "Good, just follow my lead, my lords"

    He smiled, albeit very slightly. The horse turned, just like the white-dressed men of the steward's guard. Each gate on the road had a special display. The first gate on the second level had the spoils of a victory against the Oliphant-riding Haradrim: tusks and bones and celebratory paintings made up the triumphal picture. The streets were filled with people, squares were prepared for public banquets, with fountains giving wine and mead instead of water. The horse of King Elessar on the Telcontar Square poured scented wine and cider from the snout. The second gate had a display of colorful banners with barbaric symbols, including very ornate eye-shaped devices, a remembrance of the great evil of ages past (two of them were forgeries) and looted panoplies and more explanatory paintings of past battles (painted fully from imagination and totally anachronistic and unreal). The shrine of Aule's fire had been turned into a gathering point with a dozen smaller fires being used to roast pig, beef and boar meat. The third gate had the Sourthener's ships' bronze rams, taken from their spoiled shipwrecks and captured ships. Also featured there were a score of pirate king's ornate circlets and panoplies, hung from the walls. In the Fisher Market enormous swordfishes, whales, eels and a myriad other were being cooked for the smallfolk, who cheered the lords as they pased by. The city itself was furbished for the ocasion and resident noble families had hung tapestries from the balconies of their manors and decorated doorways with flowers and banners. The fourth, the fifth gates were decorated with the spoils of the imperial Harem of the defeated king of kings and the banners of the most noble of the enemies' lineages captured (several of them were forgeries, fanciful ones). On some places there were singers and bards, the only places where the steward looked genuinely interested and clapped politely. Several stops were done before the last gate, to give a chance to late lords to join and also to do smaller celebratory rituals, like listening to speeches, offering alms, listening to a choir, seeing a theatrical replay of a battle, etcetera. It took the comitive two hours to reach the top, and, evidently, the steward wasn't too happy about it.

    And before the sixth gate, the one leading to the Citadel itself, there was a score of guardsmen in their mithril hauberks and long spears, king's men. Citadel guards. And from the openned gates ventured forth a fair-haired man, whose horse danced on the cobblestones, in a very fanciful step, going back and forth before finally joining the steward and the other noblemen. The horse was like none everyone had seen before, white of mane and skin, pure as the snow, energetic. A Rohirrim stallion, one of the Mearas, part of Hild's dower, son of her own mount and a true descendant of Felaróf, in turn a good match for the man atop of it, who was a descendant of Eorl in a straight line; just like the steward himself, descendant of Lady Eowyn She of the Broken Arm, Slayer of Fiends.

    "Welcome lords of the Realm, everything's has been readied for your arrival, the triumph's commemoration will take place on the courtyard"

    He was wearing dark clothes and his horse had the proverbial r-nd-r embroidered on its caparison. Cirion Roquenar, the steward's heir, more of a Rohirrim in likeness, but somehow of his sire's line, but not still battered by years and bitterness like his father, proud and tall. The steward talked yet again, once he greeted his son:

    "Follow suit, my lords"

    And, finally, the Citadel, seat of Kings, but with the tower of Ecthelion (I) naturally towering over them. The courtyard had been turned into the main space of celebration, including an altar for offerings to the ancestors and the Valar. There was an empty throne behind the said altar, reserved to the king. The steward didn't see much joyful, for he knew every dime and penny invested in the feast and his annoyance was only growing for having to host a feast for an absent king. At least that would make the smallfolk rejoice, such a celebration would bring many newborns in nine months. More men for the army, more people to pay their taxes. And they wouldn't be too troublesome in months, they would sing the king's name, and the steward's alongside it. Still, it wasn't worth the fatigue and the endless hours organizing such a pointless event. When Ecthelion gazed the empty throne he grew angrier. He hoped the king would join them. He had to. Or the steward would have to force him.
    Last edited by Oznerol; June 17, 2019 at 11:57 AM.

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  19. #19
    Jokern's Avatar Mowbray of Nottingham
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Lucius Malfoy View Post
    Hellenar, descended from King Hyarmendacil II, Aravald. In most recent years, since the tragic death of the Crown Prince, Falastur, he, among others, had suddenly risen up and become quite the public face across the Reunited Kingdom. Especially since Hellenar was commander of Gondor's fleets. As the commander of Gondor's armies, Cunamir worked with both Hellenar and Prince Minastir often. From what Cunamir knew of the man personally, he was fond of hunting and forests. A good ranger, certainly King Elessar would have greatly approved. In response to the greeting by Hellenar, Cunamir bows his head.

    My Lord Hellenar, I thank you for your good wishes. How fares your household these days? Well, I hope.
    "Well met, my lord. My household fares well enough, though I am still looking for a good wife to complete it all."

    Prince Hellenar was interrupted in his thought process at the ever growing irritation of the steward. He simply nodded and followed the others toward the Citadel.

    "Very well, let us continue the grand celebrations elsewhere. I also wish to give my regards to our great king, may the gods bring him much joy."

    -------------------------------------------

    A small procession entered the city gates as trumpets announced their arrival. Their banners displayed waves upon a golden field within a green border, signifying that Lord Aerion of Anfalas had arrived. The nobleman himself rode at the front, his young son riding at his side. The group wore splendid polished armor embossed depictions of waves and various sea animals, with surcoats in green, white, blue and gold. For a province known for being the backwater of Gondor, the nobles knew how to present themselves.

    Lord Aerion himself wore his ancestral armor, used by Golasgil himself during the War of the Ring. His long dark hair and beard were sporting some clear streaks of grey, though his face was still hardened by years spent at sea. He smiled as he continued through the streets, enjoying the moment of seeing the royal capital busy with celebrations. The men of Anfalas continued up towards the Citadel. They were a bit late, but hoped that they would not miss any of the sacred rituals.

  20. #20
    Lucius Malfoy's Avatar Pure-Blood
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    Default Re: Triumph of the South-Victor, Aragost, FA 1140

    Quote Originally Posted by Barry Goldwater View Post
    "Well hail and well-met," Ornendil greeted the pair who approached him. He could tell from his memories of travels in the north & east with a glance that these two, if not Easterlings themselves, had no small amount of Easterling blood in their veins. "My apologies, but though you know my name, I don't believe we've met. I am, as you say, Ornendil son of Ostoher, of the royal house; who might you be?"

    Ornendil answered the two Easterlings' bows with a nod of his own head. "Oh, is that so? What stories did he tell you of our habits?" The Telcontar lordling smirked slightly. "I assure you that, as the celebration around us demonstrates, we're a lot less grim than we used to be." Even now, with a despondent mad king and no clear heir, the situation for the Men of the West was vastly less terrible than that faced by their ancestors in the late Third Age, or so Ornendil thought.
    Kaidu, though a Captain of Minas Tirith's port of Harlond, was still not a rather known face or name. They had relatively kept to themselves as a mercenary family until, surprisingly, the High King Eldacar II called for the Easterling to be named a Captain and assigned him to Harlond. Then again, Dunedain never really liked to converse nor associate with those descended from the Men of Shadow.

    Kaidu Uzbursan and this is my sister, Oyna. Myself, my brother Araslan, and Oyna are descended from the Easterling, Gizik, who in turn was descended from Uzbur, an Easterling captured by your High King Aranuir. His clan was settled north of the river Anduin and opposite of Cair Andros. We presently live towards the South now, just beyond Osgiliath.

    Kaidu turns to look at the gatehouse, hearing the approaching marching, horns and drums.

    My father always said the Dunedain enjoyed their pomp and colors. More cheerful than the rather... dark traditions my people practiced during the Third Age. Violent is a better word for it.


    Quote Originally Posted by Oznerol View Post
    And, finally, the Citadel, seat of Kings, but with the tower of Ecthelion (I) naturally towering over them. The courtyard had been turned into the main space of celebration, including an altar for offerings to the ancestors and the Valar. There was an empty throne behind the said altar, reserved to the king. The steward didn't see much joyful, for he knew every dime and penny invested in the feast and his annoyance was only growing for having to host a feast for an absent king. At least that would make the smallfolk rejoice, such a celebration would bring many newborns in nine months. More men for the army, more people to pay their taxes. And they wouldn't be too troublesome in months, they would sing the king's name, and the steward's alongside it. Still, it wasn't worth the fatigue and the endless hours organizing such a pointless event. When Ecthelion gazed the empty throne he grew angrier. He hoped the king would join them. He had to. Or the steward would have to force him.
    At least the heir to the Princedom of Ithilien, Cirion, seemed in a good mood, though Cunamir. However, one couldn't blame the mood of the Lord Steward. There were daily problems to address and the High King's mood as of these past decades wasn't helping elate those problems in the slightest. Cunamir understood only a fraction of what was going on as his duties were concerned with the borders of the Reunited Kingdom's Gondorian territories. The Haradrim and Easterlings, as of late, were becoming more and more bold with their raids and lightning strikes. It was forcing people to move more into the interior of Gondor's territories. It did have its effects on trade as well and the money being put towards strengthening defenses was certainly a drain on manpower and revenue. The troubles of the Kingdom continued to mount, most important of them was the heir to the throne.

    Cunamir took notice that the King was absent as to be expected. The Dunedain sighs inwardly, suspecting that the ruler was either isolated in his private chambers or mourning over the graves of his late wife and son within the Houses of the Dead. He was rarely anywhere else but those two areas. Quietly, the Lord of Lamedon approaches Ecthelion, his gaze also upon the empty throne of the High King.

    Shall I go fetch him or do you want to do the honors, Lord Steward? We can't wait for him to come out on his own after all...
    Last edited by Lucius Malfoy; June 17, 2019 at 02:10 PM.

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