Lady Ilisys Azrubêl with
Gwandhyra Harion
The private rooms above ‘Needful Things’ store, Minas Tirith Marketplace
Private with
@Rillewen
The small collection of rooms above the shop were not overly generous with their space. Although he might be judging them unfairly, given how long it felt like he’d been holed up, and simply pacing their capacity without reprieve. He had not spent so long indoors for as long as he could remember. A dusty dance of footprints betrayed his disquiet, the scars of his restlessness strewn all about. There was a broom propped nearby, that he might have made good use of, or at least engaged with to spend coiled energy as well as time. In fact there were no less than seven brooms in the otherwise empty chambers. If he had not been so intent upon other matters, he might have cared, at least enough to ask, what was the purpose of so many of so similar a thing. He doubted that he would have received a straight answer anyway.
Unfurnished, undecorated, the owner had done naught yet to stamp her identity upon any of the first floor. He did not mind. The only feature which he needed was provided; the window from one room in particular, that gazed out on the scene he wished to view. The perfect position to watch. To wonder. To rear up from in a curse of agitation, and perform a further orbit of the room. It was infuriating, to have come so close. To stand by, and to see .. yet still be as a world away from that he had come all this way for.
“
It has been a long time,”
Ilisys filled the doorframe, ran one finger down the length of the wood before her eyes sought out the bearded visitor. Her pale moon face turned upon him then, unrelenting, with those eyes that never seemed to blink. Her ‘guest’ threw his back against the peeling white-painted wall, and his gaze away from his torment. His fingernails were thick with dirt, he realised, bringing up his hands to catch his face before it fell.
“
This is a bad idea,” he decided.
“
And you have never had a bad idea before.” she assumed of him the very opposite. Those grey eyes prising away all his will to evade their attention. As though she could see all. He was not sure yet if he liked this woman. But there again, that was besides the point.
“
What have you heard ?” his brown eyes flicked up with a hint of jest, although their motion spoke more so of concern.
“
All have ears,” the Belfalasian mentioned. She crossed the room, tilted her head and laid one hand upon the Man’s shoulder. Thoughtfully, she patted it, several times, as though she felt she ought to try and comfort him, but never had tried before. “
He will hear you,” she expected.
It was not like she could know for certain. It had been a terrible long time, and long parts of it indeed had been more terrible than they had any right to be. Much much more of it had never even been broached. If this then was to be an end to the unknown, for good or for ill, he had only to cross the street. It might as well have been a mountain range, or a chasm that straddled the one side of the road from the other.
“
I have given him words,” the lady declared, now lifting her one hand, somewhat gingerly, as though she had just run it along a sideboard to check for dust. She was as tall as he, the Man observed, now that they were stood close enough to see right. Even without the elaborate carriage of her perfumed hair. He did not smell quite so delightful, the stark contrast and a sudden self-consciousness informed him. He should have gone to the bath houses first perhaps. He could have at least ..
“
Can you sit ?”
Ilisys wondered as she crossed back the length of the room, and slid down the opposite wall, until her long fingers were sowing a circled outline of her pooled skirts in the dusty floor. Serving as example. When that failed to inspire him, she raised an index finger out in front of her, and lowered it slowly, wordlessly. Slowly, wordlessly, the Man sank down in a fold of shadows where the window’s beam of early morning could not reach. “
You can sit.” she answered for him, approvingly, as he opened and then closed his mouth.
“
And when he comes .. when he wants to know ..”
Gwandhyra shook his dark head and paled clandestinely beneath his sun-baked skin.
“
He knows you,” she smiled absently. And gently batted away a loose fall of dark hair which had escaped it’s decadent bonds to curl around her tapered chin.
“
It has been a long time,” the long-errant wanderer recalled.
Addhor Raxëlilta,and his son
Unalmis
Visiting with
Duinion, across the street at 'Wood Works', Marketplace
Shortly after the King’s (Second) Audience at Ranger HQ.
The rooms above the shop were not overly generous with their space, yet their keeper was content. More space would have meant more room to rattle about in, now that he lived alone. More space would have meant more places to pile up belongings that served no other purpose than cultivating dust. Everything in his small residence had been allowed to remain because it served some purpose, it had it’s place. And he felt ridiculously in control when he could see all that he needed at a moment’s notice. There was very little room for sentimentality and when it did appear, was not immediately obvious. A certain book set on the shelf held more meaning than anyone could guess within it’s bindings. Still it sat along with all the other books, only the gentle wear that softened it’s cover to suggest it was by far the most frequently studied. Other things .. he could neither bring himself to ever look at, or to throw away. These things were generally stowed deep, in locked drawers. There was a sense of knowing who a person was when you walked into their home, their life laid bare. His was ordered, neat, and anything he did not want for all and sundry to be aware of, was purposely concealed. It was a very small number of people who the carpenter let into his abode anyway.
The one who rapped excited knuckles on the door that sunny morning was a thing most treasured and tiresome in equal doses. Where all of the energy the younger man exuded came from, his father could not have said. Save that he was somewhat like his uncle. Similarities had been remarked upon before this day, and would be resurrected in the Gondorian’s mind, every time that his well ordered and neat world was invaded. A smile replaced any wont to finish washing up the breakfast dishes. Drying his hands, he made it slowly and steady down the stairs, to unlatch the strong door from his hideaway unto the shop below.
Sensing movement from the small glass panes in the door,
Unalmis waved excitedly, almost exploding with anticipation as his father took his time admitting his guests entry.
“
I am not yet open,” the former Ranger opened the door just enough to inform them, and then relented, as ever he had meant to, before he got more than halfway to closing up again. “
So there is time,” he smiled. Drawing back the defences of his humble home, he allowed room for entry, and all but shook his head as he saw whom had accompanied his son to come and see him this day. Never had
Unalmis more reminded him of
Domanol than in moments like these. It was not unlike a glimpse into some past invasion on his time, by those that he would not begrudge. There would always be time, because there had not always been. And that required serious compensation.
“
We have news,”
Nal imparted with as much and as little as he could manage. For it was not his news to disclose. The young man looked to
Duinion expectedly, as did
Addhor now also, with a slight duck of the elder man’s head to welcome the other.
“
It is good to see you,” the carpenter mentioned calmly, and with recognition of just how important this was be, for their old friend to have braved the market place. It was still early of course, he was not the only business not yet about their day. But still there might be crowds to manoeuvre before too long. “
It has been a long time.”
