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Caelen's room in Cameth Brin Palace. November 5, 1347, late evening.
Written by Rian
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Caelen curled up under the covers, Callon's shirt lodged securely in its usual place under her head so that she could feel it against her face and breathe in its familiar scent. Tomorrow! He'd be home tomorrow! She smiled happily into the dark for a minute, before more uncomfortable thoughts pushed their way in.
She had been foolish to wear the riding outfit that Daurendil had sent her. She admitted that to herself now - she had just been deceiving herself, and she had known it at the time, too - and she had paid the price today. She had made a scene at Eryndil's house when she broke down in tears, and she would probably have to face Daurendil tomorrow, too - but she was going to do her best to avoid that. Hopefully, Rildorien's note would make things easier. That had been kind of her to offer to write on her behalf, as an older friend of the family, even though they had only known each other a few weeks. And Callon would be home tomorrow afternoon or evening, and then everything would be a lot easier. Callon would take care of things again. She hoped that he would decide to drop the marriage ruse, though - it was really unpleasant to try to act like something she wasn't.
Her mind went back to Rildorien, and from there, to the events of the day at Eryndil's house. She hadn't wanted to stay to dinner - she just wanted to get home after that embarassing episode - but Hendegil had wisely stopped pressing the point and instead just started talking with her, and all of a sudden, it was dinnertime. They had laughed over Hendegil's artiface and were smiling as they walked into the dining room together, but the smiles soon left their faces as they were met with the bad moods of Vilyandur and Gildurien.
Vilyandur inquired pointedly after Caelen's "husband", showing that he was willing to keep Caelen's secret, but somehow managing to signal his disapproval of both her and the whole affair. And when the talk had turned to the doings that had taken place on October 30th and Caelen had spoken her disapproval of Duvediu celebrations that had taken place in Cameth Brin, Gildurien let a small, patient sigh escape her before commenting about how unfortunate it was that so many rustics ("not that Caelen was a rustic, of course!"
were so intolerant of things that they didn't understand, such as colorful customs from other lands. Caelen's eyes narrowed and her chin lifted up in a gesture that would have earned her a warning kick under the table from the more diplomatic Callon, had he been there, and she commented that in her experience, although the rustics were often rough around the edges, they usually had the most important things right; perhaps people with their noses in the air just missed the obvious truths right in front of them ("not that Gildurien had her nose in the air, of course!"After this exchange, Rildorien cleared her throat and looked expressively at Camglas, who tactfully and firmly changed the subject.
Finally, it was time to go home. Since Caelen had changed out of her riding habit, and the night was fine, they decided to walk (Caelen leading her mare). They didn't talk very much, but the silences were companionable ones, and they were all surprised at how soon they arrived back at the palace.
As they walked Caelen to her room (Rildorien had given explicit instructions to do this, in case the impetuous Daurendil was waiting for Caelen somewhere along the way), Hendegil asked her if she would come over again tomorrow, but Caelen regretfully declined - Callon was coming home, and she wanted to stay around the palace grounds all day so she wouldn't miss anything. But the day after that, perhaps? Hendegil agreed, and the two friends parted with a kiss. Then Caelen held out her hand to Eryndil, and said sincerely, "And thank you for ALL of your help - you've been so kind to me." Eryndil murmured a polite response and bowed over her hand, and then he and his sister left, and Caelen was in bed, exhausted, before they had left the palace grounds.
Caelen slept peacefully for several hours, then the nightmare came again. But this time it was different - usually she woke up right at the worst part, and Callon would be bending over her, shaking her awake and soothing her down. But this time, the rescue came BEFORE she woke up - in her dream, Callon came and carried her off. She relaxed, secure in his strong arms, as he took her away from the danger. But as the dream moon rose in the sky, she saw by its light that it wasn't Callon that was carrying her; it was Eryndil. She woke up with a start, annoyed at Eryndil for getting into her dream, and rearranged her pillow and Callon's shirt, trying to get back to sleep. But when sleep came and the dream resumed, she was still in Eryndil's arms, and this time she didn't fight it, for she felt so safe and comfortable ...
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Cameth Brin Tower. November 5, 1347, evening.
Written by Gordis and Valandil
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This evening Daurendil came home singing “O Lady Fair” – not at the top of his lungs, but loud enough to let at least three levels of the Tower appreciate his rich baritone voice.
“Your hair the color of sunrise…” he sang, noting to himself that it sounded much better than the original “the color of midnight” ever did.
The prince and his friends had spent the afternoon at “The Cock and the Piglet” – a jolly inn near the Market place that served excellent ale and decent Gondorian wine. The Inn was aptly named, as is served roasted piglets and harbored the best fighting cocks in Cameth Brin. This evening Daurendil had placed several quite successful bets, which proved, by the way, that contrary to the popular saying, one could easily be lucky both in love and in gambling.
Daurendil could hold his wine better than any of his friends, proving that the blood of Dauremir ran true in him: as the legend hold, nobody was ever able to out-drink the founder of Rhudaur. The prince was mightily pleased with himself –after such an eventful evening, he managed not only to ride all the way home on his own, but he had fished from under the table and shipped back to the castle his less lucky companions.
‘Never leave your fallen comrades, be it at the battlefield or in a tavern!” Captain Merendil taught him and Daurendil learned his lesson well. Now his drunken friends were sprawled on pallets on the floor of the Great Hall downstairs, their feet facing the fireplace for additional warmth.
“Your arms like wings of a seagull…” Singing, Daurendil negotiated the steep winding stair to his level and turned right, deftly avoiding knocking down AGAIN the complete set of armor dating back to early Arnor that was exposed on the landing.
At this point he was met by one of his pages, who opened the door and stepped aside to let the Prince pass. “My Lord,” the page ventured, “there is a message waiting for you.”
“Whatever.” Daurendil waved the page aside and continued “Your ruby lips like sweetest wine…” With that he found his bed and fell on it sighing in contentment.
The page knelt at his side and started to remove his boots. “Your Highness”, the page tried again, "there was also a big box delivered with the message. It is there on the table,” he pointed.
Daurendil moaned in mock irritation and turned his head to look at the box. The sight of it made the wine fumes leave his inebriated brain. Sobering instantly, he sat up bolt upright. There was no mistake - Caelen had returned his gift.
“You said there was a letter to go with it?” he asked grimly.
‘Here it is, my Lord”. The page offered him a silver platter with the letter. Daurendil inspected the seal – it was unfamiliar to him, though he suspected it might belong to one of Northern Thanes. Somehow he didn’t think that Caelen’s family could have a coat of arms of their own – but it looked she was of nobler birth than he expected.
But the letter was not from Caelen as he soon found out. It read:
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From: Rildorien; wife of Camglas, the son of Borlost, Thane of Nandemar
To: His Highness Daurendil; son of King Tarnendur and the Heir to Rhudaur
It has come to my attention that a family friend, one Caelen of good Dunedain lineage, has received from your Highness the favor of a gift of fine clothing, made especially for her.
She has acquainted us with the unfortunate ruse devised by her brother Callon in hopes of protecting her, and of your familiarity with her true station of life. But, being an orphan, and of excellent, but only common birth, she had at first failed to fully understand the implications that might arise from her reception of such a gift from a young man, notwithstanding that this one came from such a superior young man as yourself.
On being made aware of this, and being the modest and proper young lady that she is, she instantly agreed to return your most gracious gift. Her being somewhat shy and modest, and also to spare you both the awkwardness and embarrassment of a subsequent encounter, I take the liberty, as a friend of the family, to write you this note of explanation. Also, of course, she will be unable to consider giving you a riding lesson - for the continuation of which, a royal groomsman would no doubt be more suitable.
We do thank you for your kind consideration of, and attentions to, the young orphan Caelen, which attentions would no doubt please her parents, were that still possible.
Respectfully,
Rildorien of Nandemar
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A wave of misery washed over the Prince leaving tears of self-pity on his eyelashes. “How little does it take to plunge a man from the heights of bliss to the deepest pits of sorrow!” he thought. “Very little, indeed – just a meddling old relative, a mother-hen on the prowl.” He crushed his fist on the dressing table.
But he knew he was being unfair. Well, he DID know full well that it was not a suitable present for a young lady, he conceded. He had just hoped She would be unaware if it…
He contemplated the box sadly. The World was stupid. Because of some outdated notions of what was proper and what was not – notions dating back to the dwowned Numenor, he would bet – he was now left with a lady’s dress and Caelen was left without the riding outfit and without any prize for her victory in the race…That was unfair, and he had to think of something.
Oh, how he wished to ask Ol' Naure what to do! But "the late Nauremir" as his friend was now referred to was far away... gone, gone perhaps forever, as good as dead...
“Bring me some more wine, will you?” he asked the page.
