Shadow of the West

[Imladris]

Arshalous rose from her kneeling position and made way to the banquet hall. There would be much food there, and she was not hungry. Thankfully, there would be too many people for anybody of importance to notice her rudeness when she did not eat anything. Besides, there was the Emissary to occupy everybody's full attention.

As her sandals tapped lightly on the stone courtyard, she saw a man leaning against the wall. He was robed in black and purple, dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders, his eyes were a grey blue like a river whispering on a foggy morning, and, wonders of wonders, he was beardless, though his skin was dark from the cruel sun. If she had not known better, she would have thought him of the Avari kindred.

She stopped and said, "You are the Emissary, are you not?"

He pushed himself from the wall and kissed the back of her hand. "Indeed I am, fair lady --? He glanced enquiringly at her.

"Arshalous," she said, with a small bow. She swayed uncomfortably on her feet. There was something about him....something powerful about him that she had only felt in the king during the few times she had met him. Pity that none of the other nobles had such power coursing through them.

"It is very noble that the king has prepared this banquet in my honour," the Emissary said with a smile.

"It would have been rude for us not to," Arshalous said.

He looked shrewdly at her, a light flickering in his blue grey eyes.

"I am surprised that you journeyed across the desert to us," Arshalous said as she slowly strolled toward the banqueting hall.

A smile flickered in the Emissary's face and he said, "My lord is anxious for an alliance."

"It is my opinion that alliances do not often end well. I wouldn't be surprised if our countries were at each other's throats like snarling dogs in a few hundred years," said Arshalous sourly.

The man smiled politely. "That will not happen here."

"They always say that," Arshalous replied, staring at him. "The feast is about to begin," she said abruptly. "I would invite you to sit with me, though I am assume that the King has already offered you a place by his side, since, in fact, the banquet is in your honour."

"You are correct," the Emissary said, kissing her hand once more.

As Arshalous swept down the hall toward a seat in the twilight, she thought of the Emissary, how strong and noble he looked, how confident he seemed in an alliance between the East and the West. He was so different than the nobles here -- the image of Korak flitted through her mind -- in his wisdom and his kind face.

[Novnarwen]

The blessings of Rhais, he says, the Priest thought melancholically; I would rather not have any of her blessings or anything else for that matter.. It is a wicked goddess..

All of a sudden, he felt the urge to nudge the female next to him hard in the ribs. A man had just greeted them, but Tarkan didn't know this Elf. Did Zamara? If it was her acquaintance, then she should say something, not wait for him to speak. All three of them were silent, as if petrified by the loo of each other. He gave her a reproaching look, before turning to the stranger, deciding upon doing his best to seem civilized. It was only appropriate that he should greet this man also. After all, it was great to know that someone obviously knew him without himself knowing who this elf was.

"I do not believe I've had the honour of meeting you earlier," he said quietly, not knowing if that was for the best or not. He knew though, that new acquaintances could not be bad. The Priest had always liked Elves in general. They were some fascinating creatures. They were tall and firm, had a nice body structure, usually beautiful, pointed ears and all of them expressed a certain confidence that the Priest admired. This elf was a perfect example of a typical elf. His stature was great, and knowing that, the Priest could already by then guess what his position with the King was. He was fair, yet his age seemed to have a good grasp of him. Yet his eyes, vague but blue, and his black hair reflected youth. ”I do believe I have seen you, though..." He smiled faintly, digesting all the first impressions. He continued politely, "Yes, it comes back to me now. You're the King's favourite General!" The male Priest laughed gently, acknowledging the Elf’s position, expressing admiration. Zamara didn't move; he could see her out of the corner of his eye. By the look she sent him, she seemed to be surprised by the Priest’s behaviour, so polite and merry.

"Thank you, High Priest, but you're too kind," The elf answered humbly, his cheeks turning slightly red.

The ringing tune of the elf's voice calling him 'High Priest', for the second time, made him want to get to his knees and praise Rea. He restrained himself from looking happy or surprised by this and spoke hastily; "Let us not be too solemn by using such formal names; it only emphasizes our differences rather than our similarities, which are, I believe, far more important. We must set our focus on the King today, and this Emissary,” he explained eagerly; “Tarkan will do for tonight, kind Sir." Not knowing whether he should include Zamara in the conversation or not, he grew afraid that he would appear manipulative or arrogant if he didn’t. Also worried about the fact she could point out that Tarkan had received a title he did not earn, he was hesitant whether he should giver her the chance to speak. He turned his gaze to Zamara, and found her looking at him as if in wonder.

The Priest had turned from being a cold and sorrowful man, into being a man filled with merriment. His eyes shone with pleasure and delight, expressing satisfaction, but also confidence and a certain degree of happiness. He looked questioningly at Zamara. She nodded carefully, "I do agree. At this banquet, which is held in the honour of the newly arrived Emissary, it is important to focus on the King support him."

"Now, I beg you please ... Will you tell me who this Emissary is? I have not had the privilege to meet him yet, though, I'm already very curious about his coming. Do you know what he wants with the King, or are you as ignorant about the matter as I am?" he questioned the elf as fast as he could after Zamara had closed her mouth, not allowing her to say anything further.

The Priest smiled weakly, paying attention to the male Elf who told all he knew thus far. He listened attentively, but only with one ear. The woman next to him, stood still. By the look of her, she was still surprised, but he was not convinced any longer that it was for the better. If he could have penetrated through her mind and seen her thoughts, he would have done so instantly. The two of them had never had a good relationship. The truth was that Tarkan was envious of her position in the Temple. It was not that he adored Rhais over all, such as Zamara did, but the position in itself ‘High Priest' was something he truly longed for. He was just a Priest, and so the elf had greeted Tarkan wrongly, using a formal title he did not even have. He hadn't lied, the male Priest assured himself; he had told him that his name would do; he had only chosen not to mention that he wasn't a High Priest. If the elf eventually found out, he had nothing to approach the poor creature of.

The male elf finished his sentence, letting his gaze wander uneasily around. The Priest nodded carefully; satisfied by the little info he had gained. "You seem anxious to leave. Pardon me from keeping you here; I did not mean to. Please forgive me . . ." he said, in a desperate try to get he elf moving again away from Zamara and the humiliation of being just a man without a particularly great position.

[Nurumaiel]

Korak stood in the doorway, surverying the room with a look of great disgust. He had expected enemies to be gathered here, but those he despised most were among those present, sitting, talking, laughing, and scowling. He gestured to the maid, and told her to bring his mother to a table that she wished. He did not feel like sitting, for he cared for none of these people, and the Princess was not yet present.

The Lady Arshalous was, of course, present, though he could not see her from where he stood. She had said she was prepared for the banquet, so it seemed very likely that she intended to go. He hoped he would not have to speak to her again. If she approached them he would let Morashk speak, and he would leave, on the pretence of finding his mother.

There was the Priest Tarkan. Korak had never cared much for him. There was some air about him that stirred up aversion. But, on the other hand, there was something very pleasing about him, as well. Lord Korak gathered a sense of a kindred spirit, though he knew not how. Studying the rest of the room, he thought that he should care to speak to Tarkan the most. Unless it were Zamara, for she was the least dislikeable of the present company. But she was already with Tarkan, and so he need not cause himself trouble by seeking her elsewhere.

He approached the two, Morashk following in his wake, and before them he gave a courtly bow, casting a quick and haughty glance over the Elf. "My Priest Tarkan, and Priestess Zamara," said the Lord Korak, "it is a pleasure to see you here." He did not really think it was a pleasure to see anyone there, but he could not deny that it was a pleasure to have two bearable people present, since all others he saw were hated enemies or far below him. "I give to you by greetings, as well as the kindest greetings of my Lady mother, who is grateful to you for your devoted service in the temple."

[alaklondewen]

Arlomë let her eyes follow her husband’s back until he had rounded the corner and was out of her sight. Then, she sighed. She had only just found him, and now he was gone again. Really, she should have kept her temper in check and not argued with him no matter how she felt. Elrigon needed her support and she had not given it to him just now. Concern had been written all over him, and she knew he was frustrated at this Emissary’s arrival. Maybe not his arrival, per se, but Elrigon deserved to know what this man’s intentions were and had not yet been able to meet him. She would make it up to him...yes, she nodded slightly to herself.

Turning her attention back to the filling hall, she scanned its guests for not just familiar faces, but those she respected. No Avari had entered yet, and Arlomë exhaled audibly and chewed the inside of her cheek in awkward frustration. That’s when her eyes caught sight of Lady Arshalous. The woman was not of Arlomë’s kindred, but she had a good head on her shoulders and a quick wit. Two things the elf could respect in a mortal.

Arlomë excused herself several times to pass between the finely dressed nobles who were milling around waiting for the royal family’s appearance until she reached the small round table with the lady. “Good evening to you, Arshalous.” Arlomë nodded her head in greeting.

“And to you, Arlomë,” Arshalous answered and nodded her head in turn.

“Do you mind if I sit a moment until the royal entrance?” Without waiting for a reply, Arlomë lowered herself to the small table.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

He watched as the people of this land gathered for the banquet and turned over in his mind how the day's events had proceeded. It had gone well with the King, but how could it not have done so after he accepted the Ring? He reached into his clothes and found his own Ring, the mate of the one now borne by Faroz and stroked it longingly. It had been several days since he had last worn it, and he found the temptation to slip it on once more almost too much to resist. But he had been noticed already by the lady and she was sure to tell others that he was about. To disappear now would be to call attention to himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, seeking strength from his master for the task ahead. He must cloak himself from their eyes this night, and for many days ahead. For the time, he had to put on a fair appearance.

Girding himself to the task ahead he walked out of the shadows and toward the banqueting hall. As he approached he saw the lady who had accosted him earlier seated at a table with a female Elf. He snarled despite himself and quickly turned away. His master had warned him of the Avarin, for despite their long sundering with their western kindred, they remained of the Elder race.

A cough at his back made him turn round and he came face to face with the Chamberlain. It was clear that the man did not entirely like the Emissary, and that he resented him for having taken the King away from his duties this day. "My King has said that you are to be brought to the party that will be dining at the Queen's table."

The Emissary frowned, saying, "I thought that I was to eat with the King."

"Indeed you are," was the clipped response. "The King is dining with the Queen this night. Come." Before giving the Emissary a chance to respond, the Chamberlain turned and walked toward a small group of finely dressed people who were standing close by the door that the royal family would enter through once all was ready. He ushered the Emissary into their presence, interrupting their conversation and making a series of quick introductions. The Emissary was composed throughout the little ritual, bowing slightly to each of the people in turn. Among the party was another Elf, and he was careful to meet his eye and return his look with steady confidence. Once the introductions had been made the Chamberlain began to officiously organise the party. “The King and Queen are almost ready for the entrance. They have bid me remind you General Morgôs that you and your family,” and at this he looked sidelong toward the female Elf at table with the Lady Arshalous, “are to eat with them at their table, as are you Emissary. The High Priestess Zamara and Priest Tarkan will be seated at the table next to the King and Queen. I do not know where the Prince and Princess shall be eating,” he added somewhat fussily, “for the Queen has said that they might do as they wish this night.” He clearly disapproved of the Queen’s judgement in this matter. “My lords and ladies, I must leave you now, for I must look into the kitchens.” And with that, the Chamberlain was off once more.

[Orofaniel]

Evrathol was not going to judge the Emissary before he had talked to him; that was his decision. Of curse he was going to have an opinion of him, but he wasn’t going to express it to anyone else. He kept those things to himself as he was a respected member of the Royal court. He wouldn’t dare to speak ill or unjust of anyone that were guests of His Majesty himself. Usually, Evrathol never spoke of such things in public, although no one could control his own mind. At the same time, Evrathol felt a need to have a strong opinion about him, because everyone talked about the Emissary – and only him. While looking upon The Emissary, Evrathol could, however, only see a strong character, but nothing more than that. Part of it because the Emissary stayed unchanged; he showed no particular joy for the banquet that had been prepared especially for him, nor did he show any excitement. This was Evrathol’s impression of him.

Studying him a bit closer he could perhaps spot a stubborn creature, with a strong will, but those were only wild guesses.

Feeling utterly ignorant about the stranger he wanted to approach him so that perhaps Evrathol could learn more about him. His legs however would not allow him – or was it his mind that stopped him from doing so? Towards this man he felt unconfident, and weak. How could this be? Evrathol was a confident elf, who had been raised by strong characters. He didn't know why he felt uncertain and uncomfortable with the stranger's presence, but it made him scared. He asked himself why he was doing this to himself, but he found no answer. What was this obnoxious thoughts of his? Why should he, Evrathol, feel uncomfortable in his position? This was completely idiotic. He clenched his teeth, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. His head was spinning as the thoughts of the Emissary would not leave him.

As the Emissary bowed slightly to each guest, he finally turned to Evrathol. A small bow was offered him, and Evrathol greeted him back in suitable manner; “My good lord, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Evrathol offered, as polite as he possibly could be. “Greetings to you as well, my kind elf,” the Emissary said, smiling weakly. Those were the only words exchanged between them before the Emissary moved on to the next guest.

[Imladris]

Arshalous stared at Arlomë and smiled at her. They only had a slight acquaintance but she tended to like the elven woman. Arshalous that it was especially good of her to be part of the queen's retinue considering that the queen came from Alanzia.

"Have you had a chance to speak with the Emissary?" asked Arshalous.

Arlomë shook her head and said, "I have only seen glimpses of him. Have you?"

Arshalous nodded. "He was..." she tried to find the right word. "He had a quiet power in him," she said thoughtfully. "He commands one's respect. It's a pity that our nobles are not more like him," she added bitterly.

Arlomë frowned a little and said, "You think the alliance would be good then?"

"Yes I do," said Arshalous. "We would be very foolish if we did not ally ourselves with them."

Arlomë nodded and then asked with a small laugh, "Why are you sitting in the corner?"

Arshalous narrowed her eyes in irritation and said delicately, "Parties are such annoying things and more than half the people here I do not care for. I would much rather be at home curled on a couch in my library."

"I am sorry," said Arlomë.

"Oh don't be," said Arshalous waving her hand as if she was sweeping Arlomë apology into the dustbin. "It's not your fault that most everyone here is decidedly unpleasant to be converse with."