Weather:            Cloudy
Time:                Early Evening <about 6 PM (early dinner) >
Season:              Summer
Date:               Trewsday - August 5, 3015

Real Time:          Tue Oct 06 23:37:29 1998
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The room has several Minas Tirith guards in it, a strange sight in Dol Amroth indeed. Looking at a rack of wines along one wall is a tall man in a grey cloak.

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky as it finishes it's trek across the daytime sky. Within the city overlooking the Bay of Belfalas citizens move about finishing up there daily chores, making ready to go home for the night. The last rays of sunlight break through the entrance of the winery as the door opens to admit a grey cloaked figure. A man by appearance, a noble by dress, this particular lord bears the markings of a sheafe of wheat upon a field of green and gold. A steel shoulder piece holds the mist colored fabric of his cloak, bearing upon it the symbols of knighthood. The blue eyes of the knight wince slowly at the darkness of the shop, then as they adjust take in the site of the Guards about the shop. "Odd," he whispers to himself before spotting the aged man. Closing the door behind him, Nials slowly walks towards the man to confirm his speculation as to the mans identity.

As you approach the old man one of the guards steps in front of you before you can reach him. At this the man turns around and pulls the hood of his cloak back as the fabric piles upon his back. The guard turns to look at the man and is waves away with a subtle gesture which he immediatly obeys. The old man steps toward you this time and looks upon you with eyes that are dark and set deep in his face, "Good day, Sir Knight."

With one look into the face of Denethor, the knight lowers to one knee, bowing his head to the Steward "My Lord," he says reverently.

Denethor closes the distance between the two men and lays his hand upon your should, "Rise up, Sir. You honor me with your reverence. It is good to see that men follow the time honored traditions of respect. What is your name and rank?"

Rising once again to stand before the Ruler of Gondor, Nials slowly raises his eyes to behold the man, "I am Nials, my lord," his answer comes softly at first, though his next words rise in strength as they pour forth, "I am a Knight in the service of your kinsman, the Price Imrahil."

The sun sinks in the sky and falls below the horizon. Nighttime takes over.

Denethor stands straight and tall, the dusty sunlight falling upon his white hair and surrounding him in an aura of light. His entire being fills the entire room even with a casual demeanor, "You do my kinsman great service and he should be proud to have men such as you in his fold. I know that I find great joy knowing that there are men in Gondor that still hold true to our heritage."

Bowing his head in respect once more, the Knight speaks again in a tone of reverance, "My Lord is too kind in his praise," he replies before lifting his head again, "I was issued into my knighthood upon returning to the city from the quest led by the eldest of your sons to find the Helm of Hador. The Prince rewarded my support in the adventure with the title of Knight, to which I was greatly honored to recieve at the feast Lord Imrahil held at our return."

Denethor pauses for a moment of reflection and gives a nod, "Aye. I believe my son has mentioned you in speaking to me of the quest and if I'm correct you have earned what you have gained." He waves with his hand to the rack against the wall and the cloth of his cloak flutters beneath his arm, "Now, would you be able to prove yourself as worthy by your taste in local vinatages and direct me toward something new to grace my palet?"

Turning his gaze upon the racks of wine, the Knight grows silent for a moment as he is lost in though, "This particular winery holds a wide selection of fine wines," taking a step forward, Nials places his hand upon a bottle of white wine, "The white, in my humble opinion is best suited for drinking," then walking to a bottle of red and pulling it from the rack, "Where as the red is more a drink to have with a meal." Setting the bottle back upon the rack, the knight turns again to the Steward, "But the wine you seek can only be picked upon the taste of he who drinks it."

Denethor quickly answers with, "I think I would prefer the lighter white wine. Reds are suited well for heavy meat dishes and I'd like to have this as an evening vintage to enjoy as I relax of an evening. I shall be enjoying it once I arrive home and I shall be leaving shortly. This is one of my last stops before embarking upon the journey home."

"If the white pleases you, my Lord" Nials replies, "Then I would pick from the older vintages found here," Walking to a bottle, checking the marking upon it, then nodding in satisfaction the Knight draws the wine from the rack, "a good year," he says offering the wine to the Steward "My wife, the Lady Calanros and I have another bottle from this same year and have enjoyed it."

Denethor reaches out to grasp the bottle and holds it up before himself to inspect it, "I see it seems to be a respectable vintage." He holds it over toward the shop keeper, "Break out a bottle for sampling so that I may try its bouquet flavor with the good Knight." The shop keeper then pulls out two glasses and a cork puller, "Then hand over that bottle and I shall break it open for your tasting." The glasses are immediatly filled and handed over, the staward taking one and the other toward Nials.

Taking the glass from the man, the Knight raises his glass, "To Gondor," he toast.

Denethor takes the glass and holds it up to the light as he swirls it then brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. After a brief time of his eyes closed he raises the glass to yours and says, "To Gondor." He then takes a drink and obviously swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing. "A fine vintage indeed."

Smiling, the Knight bows his head, "I am glad to have served you well my Lord," he says reverently. Raising his blue eyes to the man again, he stops and thinks for a moment, "How fares the city of Minas Tirith, my Lord?"

Denethor swallows the rest of the wine in the glass and takes a deep breath, "The city is hard pressed and the days they grow darker as the darkness drifts out from the fetid sore to the East. It still stands though against all that would tear our lands apart." He looks back over at the shop-keep, "Pack a crate and have it ready for my coach to leave immediatly." The clerk heads away to bring forth the case.

Nodding grimly at the man's words, Nials grows silent for another span of seconds, "Tis true that the Shadow grows in might with each passing day. Many are it's minions, and many have the men of Gondor faced. I myself have served as a guard within your city my Lord and faced it's forces time and again. Not over two years ago I was a brash young guardsman who though no further than the tip of his blade. Much has changed, I hope at least. I resigned my post to come to this city and be with my wife."

Denethor's face frowns deeply and he sighs, "I regret the loss of a man such as yourself. The city needs as many good men to stand up to her as possible. I hope you will pardon me if I excuse myself, I grow weary and the road ahead is a long one."

Bowing deeply before the Steward, Nials rises again to look upon him, "Twas a great honor to have met you in person my Lord. Fare thee well upon thy return to the city of Minas Tirith and may the blessings of the Valar shine down upon thee."