[Elora]

Hmmmm.... seems I will have to do a retrospective post for the discussion held by Dryea, Alethea and Ruiel. I was holding off to allow Dryea make a response.

No stranger to time compression (and allegedly possessing a TARDIS that I keep in my broom cupboard), I'll do some compression with my retro post to take us up to the masquerade.

Here follows my post, which likely will need to go in the generic save area for the sake of RP timing flow:

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"Alethea, where is your mask?"Ruiel's exasperated voice snapped at her younger daughter, who flinched. Dryea chimed in with a biting comment.

"Can't you see mother? She is already wearing it." Alethea inflated as much as she could in her restrictive gown with righteous outrage. Her mouth opened to reply and then snapped shut as Ruiel let a burst of savage temper loose.

"SILENCE!" Both Dryea and Alethea stared at their mother uneasily, who quivered in rage. It was a rare sight to behold. "War looms over us, all we have worked for could rest in ruins. Death could come, and you still insist on bickering.

I did not spend my youth in the fetid backwaters of Dol Amroth to come to this end. Of that, ladies, may you be certain."

Ruiel gathered herself as she spoke in that dire tone. There was threat in the room that both had never seen directed at them. Their mother favoured them both with a harsh stare that seemed to bore through to their spines and then snapped a ridiculously feathered fan out and turned away, furiously fanning her face. Dryea and Alethea studied their mother's back in silence for the moment.

"The carriage has arrived, m'ladies," a male voice discreetly intoned from the door of the reception room the three women stood waiting in. Alethea snapped from her shock at the raw display of distress and managed an uneven nod. The footman bowed and withdrew, beating a hasty retreat.

"Mother, we are not so unschooled to allow our disagreements to hinder us," Dryea said.
"We know how important tonight is," Alethea added, sending a stung glance to her sister.

"I do wonder," Ruiel murmured after a pause. Dryea flashed with offense. How tiring to be treated as a child time and again. Alethea was still pondering the implications of her mother's words. Would she really abandon them if they proved an impediment? Her daughters?

"We should go mother, lest we are late. Rumours could start whilst we are not there to guide them," Dryea urged with some impatience. Ruiel glanced at her brightly feathered fan and grimaced at the fireplace in front of her. The Gondorian concept of amusement was absurd. A masquerade! She turned back to Dryea and Alethea, now calmer and in control of her frayed temper and demeanour.

Now was not the time to crumble, after years of hard work and danger. She had already sent a dispatch back to Umbar announcing her strategy, through Dryea. Her eldest daughter was keen to make a start on it, thinking it her own project. She made no secret of the pride she took in being entrusted with something as important as inciting civil war in an enemy country. It stuck in Alethea's craw for a reason Ruiel could make little sense of. After all, Alethea had showed little inclination in the business of espionage.

Alethea bore watching, lest her unenthusiastic opinion of events herald an unhealthy attraction to Gondor. Once this was over, Ruiel would remove Alethea from Gondor. "Mother," Dryea inquired as she stepped towards the door.

Ruiel closed her fan and let it dangle from her wrist. They'd had but two days to plan this and much hinged on the night. She walked forward, taking Alethea by the arm lest her daughter dawdle. The three made their way from the manor and into the carriage in order to arrive at the Masquerade.

Only two days, yet they'd managed to acquire luxuriantly decorated gowns and masques as well as plot and plan. Ruiel inwardly smiled at the irony that they would attend in the costume of the exotic wetland birds of southern Gondor. Brightly dyed, rich plumage floated with the woman as they walked. Each had chosen a bird to become. Ruiel had chosen the peacock, and shimmered in irridescent green-blue.

Dryea was even more spectacular in her choice for plumage. She was radiant in a delicate rose hue of the elegant flamingo, the subtle understatement thrusting her perfect beauty forward to shine. Alethea had chosen the sea eagle for herself. She was sleek in white feathers, the stark contrast of deep, glowing red accenting her form.

As the carriage trotted its way to the citadel, discussion continued within.

"Remember daughters," Ruiel cooly said, "Incite uncertainty carefully. Cast doubt discreetly. By the end of the evening, both Findulias and the Stewards must be discredited."

Dryea waved her hand at her mother in annoyance. It was not the first time Ruiel had reminded them of this.

"Yes, mother! I know. We both know," she said. Alethea seemed not so sure.

"This is dangerous mother," she said hesitantly.

"These are dangerous times, Alethea. Do not ever claim the rumours as your own, deny any opinion you may have stated if you are questioned. Let the others jump to their own conclusions. The petty nobles of Minas Tirith are adept at such things."

"Mother, that is lying," Alethea said in opposition. Dryea rolled her eyes and smirked out the window, a sense superiority rolling from her as Ruiel wondered over how she could have such different daughters.

"Better lying than dying, Alethea," she said harshly. "And if all else fails, blame your new little friend Adrama. The squawking of Pelion should be distraction enough alone." Dryea laughed richly as Alethea objected.

"But mother, she's my -"

"Enemy. She is Gondorian, she is part of Minas Tirith's most powerful Houses. She is your sworn foe. You are Umbarian, or have you forgotten," Dryea interjected cooly. Ruiel sat back and let the two sisters run, observing keenly as the carriage rocked gently.

"So too, then dear sister, is Rhir," Alethea snapped back. Dryea went pale, eyes widening.

"Excellent observation, Alethea. You would both do well to remember who is who tonight. Of all people, we three should know that not all is as it seems. Foes can be allies, and allies foes."

The carriage came to a halt and the sound of footmen jumping to the paved ground was heard from within the carriage.

"And we shall see tonight who is exactly whom," Ruiel finished. The door to the carriage opened as the three women raised their exquisite masques into place. They alighted gracefully, one by one, and swept into the Masquerade every inch the noblewomen of Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth. Beneath the warm and gentle light of the torches, Dryea's radiance grew.

Murmurs already eddied through those assembled. Ruiel wore a well pleased smile, the thrill of the night bringing her alive. As the women swept into the great hall in their feathered and jewelled finery, Ranne dealt with yet more business that arose from the 2 days of planning that had passed.

A discreet tap at the hidden door in Ruiel's study came exactly on time. She opened it and passed to the grubby, dishlevelled man a heavy stack of phamplets.

"Distribute these when you are given the signal before sunrise and you will be paid double," she informed him.
"Where is this place," he asked as he peered around her shoulders at the strange room behind her.
"Ask foolish questions like that and you'll have no further need of gold," she added in the same brusque tone. The beggar blinked at her in surprise and then nodded his head in imitation of a suitably chastened man.
"How do I know I'll get my money," he said suspiciously, head bowed.
"We will make sure we find you, no matter what happens. It's up to you ensure you will be glad of our finding you when it comes to pass. Now go. The night will not last forever," Ranne snapped.

The beggar ducked his head and turned away to start on his strange task. As he wandered his way back down the levels from the wealthy to the general city sections, he wondered about that strange room and the phamplets. Not for the first time, he wished he could read. Had he been able to, he may have thought twice about distrubuting them in the taverns and settlements.

He'd want a great deal more gold for distrubting lies about the Steward, even if they did bear the herald of the high-born House of Sador. Protected by his innocence, he instead stashed the phamplets and went in search of an ale and some company. No need to spend his time waiting for the signal in bored isolation. Besides, he was going to be rolling in gold soon and could afford the largesse.

Back at the manor, Ranne wished her hands with a moue of distaste. The room still stank of the beggar. It needed to be aired out, but not now. She had to keep an eye on the kitchens of the Citadel so that Ruiel could be kept apprised of what occured behind the scenes. And if, by seeming chance, she encountered Rhir, she could perhaps warn him about the watch on Dryea.

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]