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Child of the 7th Age · 08-09-2003, 07:34 PM

Eckthelion stretched out his legs and leaned back in his chair, staring grimly at the pile of missives stacked in front of him that threatened to topple over onto the floor. The golden orb of the sun hung high above his head. It was surely close to noon, yet he'd made little headway on the urgent matters of state crying out for his attention.

He'd found it difficult to focus on the mundane intricacies of governance with his thoughts so often distracted by all the doings at court. The welcoming party for Finduilas had been followed by a maze of chatter and intrigue that seemed to fill every crack and crevice of the palace, even affecting his own dear daughters. Ecthelion generally shut his ears to such nonsense and longed for older, simpler ways. Yet as Steward, that was a luxury he could ill afford. With no throne or sceptre or crown, the ruling line of Anárion relied on the visual image of the court with its carefully maintained decorum to buttress their right to govern.

Still, all the intricacies of court could not disguise the fact that the shadow of Mordor was creeping ever closer to Gondor, a development that would inevitably lead to war. If and when that sad day came, Eckthelion was stubbornly determined that his people would be prepared to stand firm and weather the assault.

Eckthelion wearily placed his hand on his brow as his eyes drifted down to a special missive that had been brought to him by a courier just that morning. He would read this one with care. Of all the outside agents that he employed, and there were a great many, none could match the keen instincts and wise words of this strange fellow also in Theoden's following who went by the name of Thorongil. Respectfully dubbed the 'Eagle of the North' by those who served under his command, the man seemed to possess an uncanny knack for inspiring his companions to stand firm even when outnumbered and in ferretting out secrets that were clearly dangerous to the best interests of Gondor. Thorongil's instinctive grasp of where and when the agents of Mordor would strike made him someone of inestimable value. It was scarcely surprising that in most matters the Steward found his own opinions concurring with those of the Eagle.

Eckthelion picked up the sheaf of vellum before him and, spying Thorongil's personal hand, scanned it with particular interest. After reading the contents, he sat back and sighed, shaking his head in bewilderment and frustration. Why would the man not leave off with this one topic, the only matter of state on which the two of them did not agree? Once again, Thorongil was urging him to take up arms and strike out against the fleet in Umbar and, once again, Eckthelion would pen a polite reply outlining the exact reasons why he felt this to be a dangerous course.

Despite his enormous respect for the man, the Steward was not about to be herded into adopting an overly risky stance, not until he felt beyond any doubt that Umbar would stop at nothing to see Gondor fall. He did not regard Umbar as a deadly peril in the same sense that Thorongil did, for he still hoped that differences between the two states could be settled by some means other than armed conflict.

Eckthelion drew out a fresh sheet and scrawled a response, folded it over, and appended his seal, which took the form of a white tree in blossom beneath seven stars. Then he sat back again in deep reflection. Later today or tomorrow he needed to speak with Denethor regarding his bride-to-be and the activities planned at court for the coming week.

Denethor had said something about Finduilas voicing a shy plea that the family sponsor a masquerade ball prior to the betroval party in hopes that she could make some headway with the women from Minas Tirith who'd acted a bit cool and distant. For the most part, the two lovers seemed totally enamored with each other and paid little heed to everything going on about them. Eckthelion could not help but smile to see the softening effect that the gentle girl from Dol Amroth had upon his usually dour son. He was grateful that, for once, matters of state and matters of the heart seemed to coincide. So, if the couple asked the Steward to plan a masquerade at court, he would do everything in his power to comply with that particular request.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

08-09-2003, 07:34 PM	#133
Child of the 7th Age Spirit of the Lonely Star Join Date: Mar 2002 Posts: 5,133	Eckthelion stretched out his legs and leaned back in his chair, staring grimly at the pile of missives stacked in front of him that threatened to topple over onto the floor. The golden orb of the sun hung high above his head. It was surely close to noon, yet he'd made little headway on the urgent matters of state crying out for his attention. He'd found it difficult to focus on the mundane intricacies of governance with his thoughts so often distracted by all the doings at court. The welcoming party for Finduilas had been followed by a maze of chatter and intrigue that seemed to fill every crack and crevice of the palace, even affecting his own dear daughters. Ecthelion generally shut his ears to such nonsense and longed for older, simpler ways. Yet as Steward, that was a luxury he could ill afford. With no throne or sceptre or crown, the ruling line of Anárion relied on the visual image of the court with its carefully maintained decorum to buttress their right to govern. Still, all the intricacies of court could not disguise the fact that the shadow of Mordor was creeping ever closer to Gondor, a development that would inevitably lead to war. If and when that sad day came, Eckthelion was stubbornly determined that his people would be prepared to stand firm and weather the assault. Eckthelion wearily placed his hand on his brow as his eyes drifted down to a special missive that had been brought to him by a courier just that morning. He would read this one with care. Of all the outside agents that he employed, and there were a great many, none could match the keen instincts and wise words of this strange fellow also in Theoden's following who went by the name of Thorongil. Respectfully dubbed the 'Eagle of the North' by those who served under his command, the man seemed to possess an uncanny knack for inspiring his companions to stand firm even when outnumbered and in ferretting out secrets that were clearly dangerous to the best interests of Gondor. Thorongil's instinctive grasp of where and when the agents of Mordor would strike made him someone of inestimable value. It was scarcely surprising that in most matters the Steward found his own opinions concurring with those of the Eagle. Eckthelion picked up the sheaf of vellum before him and, spying Thorongil's personal hand, scanned it with particular interest. After reading the contents, he sat back and sighed, shaking his head in bewilderment and frustration. Why would the man not leave off with this one topic, the only matter of state on which the two of them did not agree? Once again, Thorongil was urging him to take up arms and strike out against the fleet in Umbar and, once again, Eckthelion would pen a polite reply outlining the exact reasons why he felt this to be a dangerous course. Despite his enormous respect for the man, the Steward was not about to be herded into adopting an overly risky stance, not until he felt beyond any doubt that Umbar would stop at nothing to see Gondor fall. He did not regard Umbar as a deadly peril in the same sense that Thorongil did, for he still hoped that differences between the two states could be settled by some means other than armed conflict. Eckthelion drew out a fresh sheet and scrawled a response, folded it over, and appended his seal, which took the form of a white tree in blossom beneath seven stars. Then he sat back again in deep reflection. Later today or tomorrow he needed to speak with Denethor regarding his bride-to-be and the activities planned at court for the coming week. Denethor had said something about Finduilas voicing a shy plea that the family sponsor a masquerade ball prior to the betroval party in hopes that she could make some headway with the women from Minas Tirith who'd acted a bit cool and distant. For the most part, the two lovers seemed totally enamored with each other and paid little heed to everything going on about them. Eckthelion could not help but smile to see the softening effect that the gentle girl from Dol Amroth had upon his usually dour son. He was grateful that, for once, matters of state and matters of the heart seemed to coincide. So, if the couple asked the Steward to plan a masquerade at court, he would do everything in his power to comply with that particular request. [ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ] __________________ Multitasking women are never too busy to vote.