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Anduin :: Sulgaer
15 Narquelie in the King's Reckoning
9 Quelle in the Reckoning of Lindon

"If it would not be a hindrance to you, then I would enjoy your aid." And the High Kign said nothing more, not wishing for Neniel to recognize his voice so soon. He smiled at the fair Half-elf, as he took the mop up into his hands. He stared at it for several long moments. He had fond memories of aiding the servants of Cirdan's manors using. But that was several yeni ago, and the memories were fond because it was a chance to fool around, not because it was a task appointed by his foster-father.

The High King grunted as he began to clean the deck of Menegil and Glorfirith's mess. Suddenly, a though sprung forth. He momentarily halted mopping, and stared across the deck. Where is that girl? If she does soon appear, I shall command Menegil to punish her. I do not wish to do this with Neniel alone!

Irritated though he was, he once more started to clean, a sigh of exasperation escaping his lips. "'The duties of a servant are not becoming of the son of Kings, Ereinion.' I suppose not."

Aboard the "Sulgaer" - Neniel's Cabin

15 Narquelie in the King's Reckoning
9 Quelle in the Reckoning of Lindon

Menegil Belmagol...eugh...High King Gil-Galad


As the High King left the cabin, Menegil glanced again at the mirror. Trying his best to inpersonate his lord, he stepped outside. He turned his gaze to Gil-galad, mopping the floor, with the angriest face he could make, to seem as if the High King had scolded the Counseilor as he had never scolded anyone before. He saluted Neniel, that was seemingly helping Gil-galad in his task, and with a very angry expression upon his face, he left to the upper decks.

"I hope that none discovers mine or the King's disguize... Well, let us see what the future has reserved for us, if success or failure. To start, I shall find Glorfirith, and send her to aid Lord Ereinion in...my...task." He thought to himself, scouring the decks with his eyes. He found her, leaning on the rails. Training his voice, he called;

"Glorfirith! Come here." The voice came out amazingly similar to that of the High King. "Ho! I am amazed with myself, this might actually work..." He said to himself, muttering.

Sulgear

Her last attempt to find some rest had failed. Genevieve was soon up and stalking around the decks of the elven craft with a resounding thump from each of her footfalls, conveying just how terribly unpleased she was.

Onto the upper deck she eventually found her way—what else was there to do to pass the time on a ship other then to look out onto the horizon. Disgruntled grunts and groans caught the elven lady’s attention, coming from the disaster area where Glorfirith and the king’s right-hand-man had soaked the deck with the mop bucket. Never had she really taken the time to properly present herself to Menegil, but then again neither had he. The thought came to Genevieve’s mind that this elf had also contributed to her accident with a wayward puddle, and that he also should reap the rewards of his actions.

With the same fierce determination she always possessed when her eyes reached a target, she walked up to the oblivious elf from behind with a warriors gait—opposed to the angry stroll from before—and collected the bucket beside him. Raising it high above her head, Genevieve tipped the pail on its side, letting the contents spill all over her unwitting victim.

As the shocked elf turned to face her with a stern and angry expression, Genevieve’s face, in turn, matched that stare; but only for a moment. She had made a terrible mistake, one that could be fatal if this elf so wished. It took a moment for the waves of realization to hit her, but there was no doubt in Genevieve’s mind. This person standing before her was not a meagre advisor, but a kingly creature. She dropped the now empty bucket to the floor and stumbled back. How small she now felt, how cold she felt as the pangs of fear coursed through her as though it was her very lifeblood. She wanted to speak, but could find no words. She wanted to bow down on the floor, but could not find the control. Stiff as a board and with mouth agape, Genevieve didn’t even breath, for fear that even that rudimentary compulsion would put Lord Gil-galad over the edge and strike her down dead, right where she stood.

Anduin: Sulgear

So filled with fear and panic, the slightest breeze could have knocked Genevieve over right where she stood, and when the water fell down upon her she almost did. What was this game mighty Gil-galad was playing? Confusion was evident on her delicate features; why had she been soaked by this man who, if he so wished, could have Genevieve sent to the stockades for a decade or so for such acts of insolence. She was shocked back on the heels of her feet when she remembered the finer details of what got her into the situation in the first place: she had thought this man to be Menegil, counsellor to the great king. Could she be mistaken, could this in fact been Menegil? No. Not at all. This was indeed the king of Lindon. So what was going on?

Then Gil-Galad/Menegil shot her a disarming smile, and spoke in a meagre voice words that only confused her more. The man turned away from her then, and then continued his busy work, mopping up the decks.

Had the whole world gone topsy-turvy? Still the frightened elf stood stiff as a board, analyzing what just had happened. Options came to her: could someone—the dark lord perhaps?—have infected the king and his counsellor with a spore—an air-borne virus maybe?—that caused the two to switch bodies to fulfill some strange plot? Was she who she thought she was? Quickly she looked down at herself: she seemed to be who she thought she was.

Genevieve then threw that possibility away. Such abilities were likely beyond Sauron the deceiver, if they existed at all.

Had she maybe dabbled a bit too much in the cook’s cooking wine? No. She had not planed to do so until later, when the ship took birth out into the sea. Had Glorfirith then slipped her something into a drink? No, Genevieve had not taken in either food or drink for some time because of the rickety boat and her weak stomach on it.

Thoroughly flabbergasted, Genevieve made a hasty escape understanding at least that this man mopping the decks—whoever he was—wanted it so. And if he was indeed the king she thought him to be, then she wanted to distress him no more then what he already was.

To her stateroom she hustled; she was after all wet again for the second time in one day.

((Falathrim, you're a good sport))

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