7 Fourth Age: the dependable [uncertainty]

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7 Fourth Age: the dependable [uncertainty]; tag; Erch & open to those who want
Topic Started: 6 Feb 2009, 05:33 PM (203 Views)
Deleted User	6 Feb 2009, 05:33 PM Post #1
Deleted User	”Remember, when we were young, we used to play games like these…" Glancing a cross the cell to the figure of his sister in the corner, running her finger along the wall with some sort of interest, and he frowned, although he didn’t know why. He couldn’t exactly blame her, F”aelin was dead, she didn’t exist, it was simply his mind and what he liked to think was the Valar that kept her form around him. Yet the more he saw her, the more he started to feel like this wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t see he form anymore. Because then he honestly wouldn’t be in this position. “You’re not real” he murmured finally, an the illusion sharply looked over to him with a sense of shock, to which he could only smile and shake his head. “You’re not real. You’re dead.” The girl smiled and wandered over, leaning down to where he was sitting, her hands on her knees and blonde hair falling over her left shoulder, blinking at him for a long moment. He held that blinking gaze and after a while, the illusion before him sighed and fall into a sitting potion. ”Yes. I am dead. But that doesn’t mean that I am not right here, right now, big brother” She smiled, reaching forward to gently touch his face. ”But I’m going to go now, and you’re going to be interviewed…try not to get killed, alright? Try to actually explain why you’re alone, I know it’s not their business, but it might help you live longer” And then, as she did, she faded and Esril had about thirty seconds before he was hauled up from where he had patiently be sitting and pushed into what was going to be his interrogation. He wasn’t worried, well, he was a bit, because he was hardy the most innocent person on this land. He had no alibi, no company, and his allegiance towards the Riders –whilst still undeniably loyal – had been cut for a few years now. Wincing a little before coming to a stop, the Wandering Ranger allowed his bright and aware gaze flicker over where he was now, and how he was going to got himself out of the lovely mess his mind and adoring sister had got him in.
Deleted User


Deleted User	11 Feb 2009, 03:19 PM Post #2
Deleted User	Erchirion stood back, watching the guards bring in the bedraggled Ranger from the celebration. The Prince had spotted the man even before the crebain and the severed hand had appeared. He had an ill look about him. Definitely a wanderer, though that was no crime, but perhaps something more … a collaborator? Lifting a forefinger to his face, Erchirion lightly followed the inflamed red wound from temple to chin. The elf had given him a permanent reminder of the fight he had barely survived. Was this Ranger in league with the elf? It was Erchirion’s duty to discover the truth. He entered the interrogation room slowly, coming from the shadows like a slinking wolf. His hands were covered in black gloves with the Tree of Gondor stamped into the leather. As he pulled off the gloves, it was this emblem that reminded him where he stood and who he was. Erchirion, Prince of Dol Amroth, was not in his own city and was not a man consumed with panic. In another time, in another city, maybe this interrogation would have been different. But this wandering Ranger was fortunate. There were lines Erchirion could not cross today. He did not take a seat across from the Ranger, as the arrangement of chairs clearly expected of him. Instead, he circled the Ranger, disappearing out of sight before emerging again. Round and round he walked, like a predator stalking his next kill. After many minutes, he finally spoke. “You will begin with your name and origin.” It was not a question, but a statement. The cold steel in the Prince’s voice was clear. He would permit no lies or evasions in this room.
Deleted User


Deleted User	11 Feb 2009, 08:20 PM Post #3
Deleted User	For the brief moment that he was alone, Esril allowed his senses to relax along with his body. He knew himself to be innocent and have done nothing wrong, he would not allow his worry to overcome his mind. Opening bright blue eyes as motion was caught with his senses, he cautiously watched the man emerge from the shadows like something out of a child’s nightmare, although Esril couldn’t quite bring himself to that level of intimidation, now even the circling. He simply closed his eyes and followed the faint footsteps, fingertips twitching slightly where he sat. He became deathly still at the request for his name, as well as his origin. The name he had little problem with, especially here, who would know him, a lowly wanderer? It was the origin he had trouble with, stll, with a deep breath he opened his eyes and stared right ahead into the darkness, barely giving the circling predator a seond glance. “My name is Esril, son of Anath…I was born in Arnor.” It had been a while since he thought of his home, or his family, he had been too busy trying not to die or go too insane with Faelyn to worry about his father, of a people. He had witnessed the fight between the elf and the Prince, and wisely held his opinion on it. They had both given each other scars from what he could judge, and there was something to be finished between them. He had not been concerned with the elf to begin with, more worried about where the flight of Crebain had gone off in, their little gift left on the floor for all to see and be disturbed at. And whatever plot the elf had obviously worked. Paranoia, accusations and distrust was rife within the air and Esril could only watch with a nonchalant, blank stare as the chaos that had only just started to die from the mysterious illness, return like a determined flame.
Deleted User


Deleted User	16 Feb 2009, 02:04 PM Post #4
Deleted User	Erchirion watched his prey, drinking in every movement of the fingers or flutter of the eyelid for any hint of untruth. He had done this so many times even the most subtle of signs did not miss his notice. The man, as of yet unnamed, remained an enigma. Unlike some, Erchirion did not watch the eyes when his questions were answered. The suspect always expected the lie to show in his eyes and knew to hide it well. Other features—the lips, the forehead, the hands, and the shoulders—told Erchirion more than any liar’s eyes. Esril, son of Anath truly was born in Arnor. They were off to a promising start, though not completely upfront. “You say “born in Arnor” as if any others besides Dunedain Rangers come from that country,” Erchirion stated blandly. “You are one of the Dunedain, are you not, Esril, son of Anath?” He was, of course. Erchirion had seen it even at the New Year’s celebration. There was no mistaking those features, so alike to the Gondorians, yet etched with a weariness and wisdom the Southern Kingdom had never known. Beneath the telltale signs of a wanderer, Erchirion had spotted this man for what he truly was—the King’s kin. And that made the betrayal sting more fiercely. “Which Captain did you serve under in Arnor? Halbarad? Elessar himself?” Erchirion’s footsteps echoed around the stone cell. His voice remained even, with an edge of steel biting the tone, when he asked the next question. But there was something else in the words, some desire for irrefutable proof and a scapegoat. It was only a hint that the Prince had already found this man guilty and was now searching for some shred of evidence to make his opinion true. “Did you come south with the Gray Company? Or were the sons of Elrond … not able to find you?”
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Deleted User	9 Mar 2009, 08:19 PM Post #5
Deleted User	The Dunedain, a brief flicker of a smile passed over his lips at the thought of them again, it had truly had been so long since he last thought of them, of his previous life, of his family. He briefly wondered whether it would ever be possible now to go back, to how it had been before he had lost those so precious to him. Nodding finally, he relaxed, he could deal with these questions, not that they were really difficult, the man knew what he was. He had known from the beginning. “Yes. I am of the Dunedain” Bright blue eyes flickered up with the edge of knowingness within them. “But, you already knew that” As if it hadn’t, the earlier comment at the festival had even confirmed it. “For a time, I served under Halbarad” he murmured softly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “However…issues arose and at the time of when the sons of Elrond…it was decided for me that I would be more of a problem than an aid…” Slipping his eyes closed slowly with a wince, not even the soft, not-real touch of a hand on his shoulder soothed the painful, torn memory. To help and make sure there was a future to spend with his family – little time they had or not – or to stay and tend to them now, praying for those who had left to be victorious. “My state of mind…and my family….wasn’t really…” he fell silent for a moment, frowning a little before the eyes reopened, hard and cold. “…I wasn’t in any fit state to be of any assistance.” And he paid for that, he found, maybe this isolation and guilt was to be his punishment for not helping in something much better than himself.
Deleted User


Deleted User	13 Mar 2009, 02:20 PM Post #6
Deleted User	For all his dismissal of others’ opinions of him, Erchirion was a close listener in these situations. He heard more than what was said. It was the tones beneath the surface that captured his attention. “Yes, I did know it,” he said plainly, offering no explanation for why he asked the question. He assumed it was obvious. Esril, son of Anath, had given away his weakness so soon. Too soon. Erchirion frowned. It would be only too easy for the spawn of Mordor to exploit this flaw, and the Prince was certain they had. He only wondered when. How long ago had this Ranger betrayed his King? When Elessar was still their Chieftain? Or after Arnor and Gondor had been reunified? “You did not fight on the Pelennor or at the Morannon. You did not see King Theoden slain nor Lord Denethor fall into the enemy’s madness. You did not hear the screams of agony of good men who took up arms nor feel the earth quake as the mumakil trampled to death scores of men you had trained personally.” Erchirion placed one hand on either side of Esril’s chair and leaned in. His livid face held only disgust, the emotion punctuated by the violent scar across his face. “If you had, you would not have betrayed us.” The Prince stood up again and allowed the barrier of space to flow between suspect and interrogator again. The lecture over, for now, he continued with the questioning. “Was it your “state of mind” that the enemy used to corrupt you to his purpose? And so, now serving Sauron, you abandoned the Gray Company and used this as an excuse to remain in the North, doing his bidding there while your people were in the south unaware of your treachery?”
Deleted User


Deleted User	13 Mar 2009, 03:09 PM Post #7
Deleted User	Esril… He ignored the soft gasp from the girl behind him, he knew, he knew so well how much trouble he was going to get himself in. Death didn’t scare him, conviction didn’t scare him, it was strange, almost nothing scared him anymore, and he was just…wandering and waiting for his time to die. Until he could be with his family again or most of them at least. Glancing up to the other with firm stare, Esril shook his head. “No. I heard none of that. If I did, I probably would have killed myself” It was almost shattering how steady he heard his voice at that point, but he supposed that was true. Typical that it would be now that he would be paying the price for his earlier passive “betrayal” when he did not follow those who rode to battle. He had watched them, broken, as they had left that night. He had stood there and watched them leave, guilt ridden and sick, until a soft, cold hand had wrapped around his and the pale form of his fingers and Faelyn had smiled at him. She had been so pale, then, her eyes the only bright feature she had at that point in her illness. The guilt had faded, at least, then, but it never truly went. Even though he managed to spend the last few days with his sister in the company of family, he had failed to serve those whom he was loyal to. Staring at the other squarely and blankly, it slowly clicked within his mind, and the figure behind him vanished with the air, only a soft gasp leaving her lips. It was out of his hands now; the questions confirmed that, his innocence meant nothing. As long as there was someone to blame. “The enemy, my Lord? You mean the elf who attack you at the festival?” He frowned. “Maybe the loss of blood from that wound has clouded your judgement…but I am servant to no-one but the King of Gondor. You have no evidence to suggest I am anything but loyal.” The blue eyes hardened once again. ‘I would rather die, than help the evil that effectively killed my sister.” Edited by Morion, 15 Mar 2009, 01:25 AM.
Deleted User


Deleted User	16 Mar 2009, 03:43 PM Post #8
Deleted User	Erchirion’s brow furrowed, and he allowed it only this moment because he was standing behind the suspect. When he circled around again, his face was smooth, as if he’d had no reaction at all to the statement. Why would a Ranger think himself inferior to battle conditions? There was a flicker of doubt. Before he could suppress it, the question had been silently asked: Was Esril, son of Anath, truly guilty? Erchirion turned his back for a moment, pretending to contemplate the candle flame. His figure was ramrod straight and unmoving. Whether or not this man was guilty of conspiracy and treason, and Erchirion was quickly losing faith in his first assumption, the public needed someone to blame. It was no noble thing to do, to find a scapegoat to appease the masses, yet the Prince felt sure no other in Gondor would do it. It was the burden of being the second son—the spare—that he sometimes must take the low road for the greater good. His reputation could suffer, because he would never rule a province and would never have a need to claim moral authority. Already in a foul mood from this decision, Esril’s insult only served to anger him more. Erchirion’s jaw twitched, and then the boiling resentment of being put in this position—this position that Elphir could have avoided—spilled over. “Fool!” Erchirion hissed. “There is more at stake than one lunatic elf and one scar! You have been lost in your own affairs and missed much that has happened in this last year. That Elf serves a master, who is a Lieutenant of Barad-dur!” You say this evil killed your sister. You speak so small! While you fret over your own affairs, it is for all of the Reunified Kingdom that I think. We are threatened with a shadow of our enemy. Here were stand, at the beginning of another great war, with the opportunity to defeat this kindling of evil before it become a fire to engulf us all. We must stamp out all the embers of this evil.” He paced around the small interrogation chamber, fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously. He wanted to strike the man, and he might have, except what he was about to do was far, far worse. “Tell me of your travels. Before coming to Emyn Arnen, where did you visit and whom did you meet?”
Deleted User


Deleted User	17 Mar 2009, 05:43 PM Post #9
Deleted User	Esril found himself watching the other carefully, for the amount of time he was actually in his sight, bright blue eyes flickering with some sort of emotion that he couldn’t quite place, in between worry and cautiousness. He knew how some men could be, especially those of the sea or the war, they were made for violence, it was in their blood. He had to be careful, too many buttons pushed could end badly for him, in all senses of the phrase, which was why when the other hissed, losing his temper and simply inclined his head. “I speak so small…” he repeated slowly with a small smile. “Reunifed Kingdom or not, war or not, I am simply a ranger, my family were all I knew, they were my life. When I lost them, as selfish as my decision was, nothing less mattered.” Glancing up once again with a wry grin, Esril shook his head. “I may have been lost in my own affairs too long, missed too much, but that doesn’t change anything, I’m not the person you’re looking for. I’m no slave to some lunatic Elf or his master” Still, he paused, his breath stilling a moment, at the need for stories of his travels. Again, he shook his head. “That…will be difficult, my Lord, as I did not meet anyone on my travels. I spent the time alone completely. Just myself and my thoughts, I haven’t been in contact with anyone for many months, a few years.” “Except, for maybe a healer woman from the City of Gondor, who helped me a few months ago when I collapsed off my horse on the Pelennor Fields. I stayed within her house for a few hours, before I left. Walls do not comfort me well, so I stay within them as little as possible. I...cannot clearly remember her name, nor exactly where I was..."
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Deleted User	24 Mar 2009, 03:01 PM Post #10
Deleted User	Erchirion heard the words, but he could not understand them. Raised a Prince, he had never known what it was to put family before country. They were the same to him. His family was his country. The Princes of Dol Amroth and the Stewards of Gondor bled and died for Gondor—the people and the land. Brow furrowed, he attempted to wrap his mind around this concept. But even during the War of the Ring, he had made the decision to sacrifice a sibling for the greater good. All the Princes of Dol Amroth had. They had left Lothiriel in the citadel, suspecting the city would come under attack and be left defenseless. He found it inconceivable that he might have stayed to protect his sister. Minas Tirith and the future of Gondor was at stake. What was one girl, beloved sister and princess as she was, against total destruction of the realm? “Your words mean little to me. Narrow minds are easily swayed. This I know to be true, no matter your rebuttals. You did not ride south because you could not, or did not want to, understand the gravity of the war.” Erchirion pondered Esril’s confession of meeting no one for several minutes. Whether he knew or not, the Ranger had walked into the trap laid for him. There was nothing the Prince could do now but use him as the scapegoat. He would never find a better candidate for this unsavory necessity. His anger had subsided into resignation. Like all the many times before, he would come dangerously close to the line between good politics and morally abject simply because it was his fate as the second-born. “No one,” Erchirion mused. “A man cannot travel Middle-earth and meet no one unless that is his intention. Even if it is, I do not believe it is possible. And years in solitude, like narrow minds, lead to corrupted roads.” The mention of a Gondorian Healer was feeble. That Esril had even included it gave Erchirion pause. Perhaps he was not quite as innocent as he claimed. Absently, the Prince stroked his chin. His fingers found the base of his scar. “Esril, son of Anath, you will here be formally charged and brought to the city of Minas Tirith under guard to stand trial in the high court of His Majesty, King Elessar, for the crimes of conspiracy, collusion with the enemy, inciting public panic, murder, and high treason.” Erchirion waved his hand and six armed guards entered the interrogation room. Turning back to Esril, he took a final look at the man who would bear the brunt of Gondor’s scorn and fear in a public trial. Even after his innocence was declared, the hysterical peasants would never believe it. This was a reputation ruined. “On your feet.”
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