Council at Armenelos

Log file from Akallabeth.

Almost as it was during Menelya's trial -- grimacing, intimidating, and ever tense -- the Great Council fills with the likes of nobles to those who wander the street in search of comotion. The blazing sun in the west sets ablaze, the aubrun rays filtering into the massive hall, the sound of voices -- men and women alike -- bellows and echoes to and fro. The Lordly Gimilkhad sits upon his raised seat, but now moves swiftly to the large podium which lies in the middle of the council, before the table of elders. People continue to fill the many rows and ranks, the comotion dying slightly as Gimilkhad approaches the main floor, all eyes focusing in on him. He awaits impatiently, but refrains from speech until all have entered.

Dusk falls briskly outside as the tention of the evening lays before each one gathered here. Fearing the worst for the land she loves, Cassandra sits on the front bench to listen to the events occuring, waiting to hear some sort of plan so that it can be followed. As Cassandra clears her throat she looks around to the others seated around her and smiles warmly at them and nods to the ones she knows. No word is spoken by her as she acknowledges her friends.

Raising his arms to full height, his eyes piercing everyone in the Great Counsil's halls, Gimilkhad opens his mouth and begins to speak. His booming tone of might and glory rings with no avail, "Greetings Dunedain! We all gather here for a most important cause -- a most important announcement..." His hands fall and grasp the edge of the podium, his darklit eyes scanning everyone present. He continues, his voice ceasing to loose power, "As of late, an ever vigilant Lord to the southwest, in the region of Hyarnustar, as doubly spoken out against our King and has caused tension for a many year now. His name, Aganbar, is who we speak of this evening." He pauses again, looking around, as if waiting for something, and continues slowly, "A small band of soldiers was ambushed there yesterday, on their way back to fair Armenelos, by Aganbar and his legions. His cause is unknown, but his punishment must be with haste, for we will no longer tolerate his malicious behavior." His eyes remain cold and distant, seeping through everyone's soul.

The doors to the council chamber swing open with a loud *boom*. There in the threshold stands a woman of tall and stately splendor. Though still in her youth, the woman has an edge to her born of travel, coming up against many enemies, and...there is something unexplainable about the sharpness to her gaze. In a hall full of elegantly dressed nobles, this woman is quite simply clad. A silvery grey cloak billows about her, covering her other clothing. Her raven hair ripples down to the small of her back, needing no adornment for its thickness and sweet fragrance is adornment enough. Behind her stand two guards at attention.

Shocked murmers make their way through the crowd, for indeed before them is the Lady Alphelen of the House Isilrim. The one who escaped Numenor for a quest that many felt were foolhardy. She stands straight, though she does grip a staff of ebony and silver in her hand. Silence falls as she takes a step into the council hall. Only three words does she speak, and they echo against the walls as she addresses Gimilkhad with a stern tone, "I have returned!"

Seated in her accustomed place in the Great Council, the Daughter of Tar-Palantir sits regally, her proud chin tilted upward as she listens to her uncle the Prince's voice echo through the chamber. This day in her formal dress, circlet shining on her brow in the lamplight, she appears relaxed yet attentive, her pale hands neatly folded on her lap. As people enter the room and fill the seats, her eyes only occasionally stray to the door.

Watching carefully the young lady who has just entered, Cassandra looks concerned for this one. Looking over to a friend of hers she speaks softly, "I do wonder where the son of amandil is, or perhaps Amandil himself, should the leader of said Elendili not be present at such things?" Cassandra's friend replys only with a shrug of her shoulders as they both shake their heads at the seeming outcome of this event.

A quick snap of the head, and a truffle of his long flowing cape -- Gimilkhad turns and stares Alphelen in the face. A few seconds pass, his ever watchful eyes gleaming with a unadorned shimmer. His lips gently curl into a grin, almost that of wickedry, as he says in response -- first to hush the loud spectators, "Silence! Silence!" He pulls his hand forth from the innards of his cloak, gesturing for Alphelen to come hither. He says again, his voice lighter but decietful, "Come forth, lady Alphelen of the house of Isilrim. What brings you here, now, on this night of counsil? Speak now, for I await a thorough explanation..." His voice seems inquisitive himself, a bit hesitant, but remains stern and bulky. His glare never leaves Alphelen or her guards.
 
High and clear, the wild cries of horns rise to the darkening sky, drifting through the vast halls of the citadel of the Sea-Kings -- and then, they die out, and the silence which had fled from that bright sound, reigns again. But not for long, for scant moments later, the heavy footfalls of many men draw nigh.

And then, even as they begin to close behind the Lady Alphelen, the thick doors to the Hall are thrust open from without with a clanging of metal, and thither stands a man -- tall and clad in mail and gilded with gold and silver in the waning light, and a dozen others are behind him, bearing his livery, and the richness of their raiment is such that they would seem lords of the realm.

Pharazon the Golden has come.

Hands folded upon her lap, a young woman sits with an air of aloof detachment amid the murmuring nobles. Her hair, shorn short like a child's, leaves her face bare to inquiry, and there in its soft planes, the dancing eyes, the sharpest glance might discern that the calm expression is but a shallow faade.

The great hall echoes and trembles still from Alphelen's dramatic entrance, and yet, Minulzimra's gaze pauses but a moment upon the lady as she is beckoned forward by Gimilkhad. While all others are focused upon the unfolding conflict, she is alone, it seems, in her survey of the room and those stragglers who yet sidle in.

Only the barest of bows does the raven haired maid allow the Prince, it is enough to be considered courteous but absolutely nothing more. Her steely eyes never leave Gimilkhad's face, almost challenging. She looks about the gathered folk for a moment before she strides in, her head high and her gaze returned to the leader of this gathering. Her guards follow close behind. She says nothing as Pharazon enters the room, giving him another barest of bows. She turns again to scrutinize Gimilkhad, her face set into stern, if graceful, lines.

"No answer, have you?" Says Gimilkad with a dark chuckle hidden deep and lethal in his voice. His sharp gaze follows the woman of Isilrim as she continues her passage into the council. "Come, I hold it to you to speak. Answer my summons! Give me what I have asked!" His hand is reached out, his face full of pride, glorying in his power over this small creature before him. The entire council at his back, the power of the government, the King and all those loyal to him, does Gimilkad bring to bear against this woman he has made his foe.

Standing alone, in the far left corner of the posterior portion of the room, Meregond delves in conversation with himself. His bright armor and light blue cloak is but a mockery, and his eyes turn to the newly arrived upon their dramatic entrances. He listens with intent ears, but speaks sour words to himself. His eyes scan Alphelen first, then Pharazon, his lips curling, and his stance remaining ever vigilant. He speaks not to any comrades, but only to himself. His head wavers in between the shadows that the large pillars cast.
 
A moment longer the one on the threshold stands thither, his gaze sweeping over the chamber ere coming to rest on Gimilkhad. And then, into the chamber he sweeps, a regal figure and one of power, and he looks neither to lord nor lady -- for, to none does he pay any heed, and the Lady Alphelen's bow is unanswered -- to his father the Prince of Andunie strides, and before him he bows with his arms crossed upon his breast.

"As you had bid me lord, thus have I come!"

When the doors open to reveal Pharazon, Miriel's grey eyes rest on him longer than even they did on her friend, the Lady Alphelen who had just come in before him. Her expression changes not, however but any that are close enough to her to glimpse her hands, can see her knuckles are white from the grip of her hands upon eachother.

As Gimilkad taunts Alphelen, her lips press together, and she takes a sharp breath, maybe as if to speak, but before she can say a word, the voice at the door draws her attention and she slowing turns her head back to her cousin.

"Actually, I thought that you might first wish to greet your son before hearing of my travels..." Alphelen smiles, "If you so wish, I will give you word of my quest, for indeed it was a great success...", her steely eyes sparkle with an almost mocking mirth, "Despite those foes who wished to impede my quest to bring peace to Numenor...", she lets this scentence hang in the air for a moment continuing, assuming Gimilkhad has taken her point, "I did indeed bring added peace to our beloved country. I have gained us allies, even though one of our number did indeed seek to alianate the elves from ourselves by bringing hidden weapons into their fair city...."

After a brief pause, Alphelen steps forward and continues her address to Gimilkhad and the council, "I and those who accompanied me obtained the map that led to the Heart of the Jewel. We traveled there and discovered a sword beloved by the elven people, one named the Sword of the Rain. I relinquished this sword to the elves, for indeed we in Numenor have no need of another sword, we have many already. The High King Gil-Galad was pleased and a beginning to true peace has been established...", her summation of her travels finished, Alphelen bows and says mockingly, "And now, if you wish to maintain that I indeed am an outlaw to my country and people, I am here for my punishment...", straightening to her full height her tone grows serious, mocking no longer, "I feel any punishment that I might recieved worth the peace that I have brought to our country..."

A light hand, tentative as if even the father fears his son, is placed upon Pharazon's bent shoulders.

"Rise, my son," Gimilkad's voice nearly cracks with pride and the look he casts about the council chamber is filled with a venomous pride. His sharp glance falls on Miriel, daring her to react, daring her defy his power in favor of her father's rule. He knows she is to weak to defy him, not with his son at his side.

Gimilkad chuckles softly at the minor melodramas that have now been swept aside by his progeny's glorious entrance. The Lordly man shakes his head and takes slow steps towards the pulpit once again, climbing the dias with his back to Alphelen and the peoples faithful to ancient customs, subservance to elves.

"Now, what peace was that, Lady Alphelen? Are you to have me believe that your trifling journey brought us peace? How is that? Through allying yourselves with those our wise Kings once banned us from consorting? I see not the wisdom." Gimilkad spreads out his hands, jesturing towards the gathered assembly, "Tell me, who amongst you thinks Numenor is so weak that we require add to press our issues upon the shores of Middle Earth?" He pauses, but not over long, lest someone actually responds, "I think no one. For we have long ruled the seas and the lands we've ventured over. Is not Umbar strong? Are not our legions triumphant?"

Standing tall Alphelen proclaims, her voice commanding "Heed my words Gimilkhad Prince....we as Numenoreans should be proud of our country and its accomplishments, but ne'er should we forget those who gave us this Land of Gift, and those who have helped us become the country that we are today. I believe that all allies are good allies, and that one day we will have need of allies in Middle Earth, and it will be wise to have them there...Indeed our KING Tar-Palantir thinks it wise else he ne'er would sent me upon the misson in the first place..."

Her words die away and then she says in a softer tone, "That is all I have to say...now dole out my punishment, and get to the matters at hand...a potential rebellion in the south...", her eyes of steel stray once to Miriel and she seems to sigh inwardly before returning her gaze to the Prince once more. The ebony haired maid does not even recognize Pharazon at this point.

Having determined it wise to not speak, at her uncle's glance, it's meaning fully visible to her, the Princess's eyes flash in anger. As Alphelen's voice rings out she meets her friends glance and when she finishes, Miriel rises from her seat. Voices quiet as she waits for her uncle acknowledge her stance. "Prince. " Her clear voice echoes throught the chamber. "Careful of your place. This is your hour, but take heed. I will have no disrepect here." She glances towards Pharazon and seats herself.
 
Rising, yet a moment longer Pharazon stays by his father's side, his brow furrowed in brooding thought, his gaze upon Miriel as she speaks. And when her words have died out, and even their rolling echo lingers in the hall no longer, he turns to Alphelen, his tone forbidding, "This Sword of the Rain you speak of. You had won it -- and you gave it then to Gil-Galad and his folk?"

And then, it would seem he dismisses the matter with a wave of his hand, "But it is done. Go then, lady, or stay if you will, while wiser heads take counsel."

And ere he turns away, he adds, "And I will not have any bring harm to a Lady of Numenor if that is indeed what you fear. And so, know that you are now in the wardship of Pharazon son of Gimilkhad!"

Arching a black brow, Alphelen studies Pharazon and says, "I knew not what to expect I trust very few after 3 attempts upon my life...", she does not look all that reassured at being in the protecting of anyone related to Gimilkhad either, her steely eyes wary. She says calmly, "I would go visit Lord Amandil and my father...I have not seen either in many long months and my heart is weary for my family and friends...", she gives a prefunctory bow and a deeper bow to Miriel, saying, "My Lady..."

"Silence!" Gimilkad stops the arguement with a wave of his hand. "I am still head of this council and will not have my pronouncements undermined by your quibbling, Lady Alphelen of Isilrim!"

The Prince glares at Miriel, pausing for a moment before answering the daughter of his King. "Yes... it is my hour, Kings-Daughter. I will not have my voice gainsaid and will rule these proceedings as I see fit. None can find fault with my behavior." He beseeches the crowd, approval echoing about the chambers as Gimilkad's supporters nod their heads and make pleasent noises to sooth the mind of their master.

Softly but commanding, Gimilkad continues, "List, Isilrim woman..." His words mock, "I believe your safety best assured behind the strength of Umbar. But if you wish to go about this endevour that you plan, as you say, to see Lord Amandil, then I must only beseech you to take a guard. Umbar will provide. Is this not wise?" There is laughter in his eyes now.

"Oh, I could not impose upon you, for they have such more important duties...I have many guards of my own, these behind me are only two of several. I am quite well protected, though I do appreciate your offer, in ways that I cannot even begin to describe...", Alphelen's words may seem fair but it is quite likely that those ways she cannot begin to describe are rather unpleasant. She says, "Prince Gimilkhad, you will one day wish you had listened to my words, for I see much destruction in your future...", she sighs softly and despite her obvious dislike she seems quite truely saddened by this prediction. Closing her eyes for a moment she then opens them and asks softly, "I bid thee all farewell...", turning she exits the chamber with a limping stride.

The Princess listens to her Uncle speak and seems almost prepared for his answer, for no spark of anger does show now in her eyes or indeed on her face. Nor does the crowd's reaction moce her. She smiles and her gaze is only for Gimilkhad, but her eyes are cold steel. For having said her piece, she is too much a product of her royal upbringing to agrue in public, which apparently her uncle does not seem have the least problem doing.
 
Forceful and demanding as the very storms which rage in winter, the Prince of Andunie stirs now, stepping before the raised dias, his flashing gaze and rising ire holding those in this place in thrall, "Here is folly indeed! We gather to speak of war within our boundaries, and bear witness in its stead to prophecies of Doom!"

Stern and proud, he stands thither, pausing now -- but none dare to naysay him. A nod, and he continues, "Listen well then to the words of the Lord Gimilkhad, and this rebel lord will tremble in dismay at the might of Numenor!"

And drawing back, he turns to his father.

"Numenor, there is a tale I would tell of thy Kings and great heros and those who would defy them!" Gimilkad begins, "Oft has tragedy been the tale of men. We rise from birth to greatness then fall forgotten in the dust. That which remains is our glory and our glory is our King!" His dark eyes flash about the chamber, seeking those that would dissent.

"Will we allow that which is our glory to be sullied by the proud and jealous stamp of a would be tyrant? No! So it is that we must crush the rebellion in the south. Hyarnustar shall not be left an unweeded garden left to sow, where things rank and gross in nature possess it merely. We shall purify it with flame and a heavy hand! Rise, people of Numenor, defend your King!

"Hither let the call rise up! To arms; to arms! And southward cast your minds, for there is your enemy. Bring thy legions to Armenelos, my friends, girt them with sharp swords and bright armor, for they are to champion our cause. Let all who would stand with Aganbar tremble!"

Gimilkad Prince, Head of Council and King's Men, thus spoke.

"You have heard now the judgement of Gimilkhad, chief Lord of the Council of the Sceptre. Let it be done!" And then to his father Pharazon turns, and his tone grows lower, such that few can hear him, "I go now, lord, but not from Numenor. Not yet. Send to my chambers if you would have speech with me, for I will await you there." And turning, he strides from the room, his retainers drawing close.

And as he had come, thus he departs, Pharazon son of Gimilkhad, the Golden One -- in lonely splendour.

By the end of Gimilkhad's speech, Miriel's eyes scan the room, watching and weighing the reactions of those gathered. As the last of his words ring and the echoes fade, the murmurs rise like a tide and soon the babble of voices are loud and the hall rings with many voices. Some are leaving their seats, and others talk among themselves, but Miriel does not make a move to depart. She nods to those greeting her as they walk by and even smiles but she looks thoughful if not worried. Often her gaze strays to her uncle never to staying for more than a few moments. As the hall drains of people and silence begins it's reign again, only then does she rise and slowly walk toward the doors.