Oath Against Oath
Dol Amroth: Prince's Castle - Mithrellas' Garden
High among the spires and sloping rooftops of the Marble Citadel is the rooftop garden, built by Princes gone by in memory of Imrazor's beloved elfmaid, Mithrellas. Slender columns and arches of white marble are hung with ivy and flowering vines, riotous with bright trumpet blooms to draw darting hummingbirds. Though the space is hardly vast, there are trees of rowan and olive, orange and lemon, all lending the scent of fruit and bloom to the sea air pervading the atmosphere. All about the slender boles are set elanor and niphredil, small lovely blossoms of white and gold.
In the very center of the garden is a marble figure, Mithrellas herself. The elfmaid faces the sea, her stone hair ever blowing about her as she reaches out to Belegaer, visible beyond the westernmost precipice. A simple table of the same white stone is set near the railing, surrounded by chairs of lebethron, simply wrought and unadorned. Patches of light alternate with dappled shade, and all is serenity, filled with the song of nightengale and lark, and the tinkling of chimes hung amongst the foliage.
Contents:
Calardan
Obvious exits:
Prince's Spire
[Arathis]
The sharp smell of salt foils the thick, oily leaves of new lemons and small, egg-shaped oranges. Borne to even the rooftop gardens of Amroth by a sea-storm's winds, the scent of the bay's waters prevails despite Mithrellas's pungent spring buds.
Heedful of an olive tree and bandaged is Arathis, his visage downcast.
[Calardan(#30834)]
There is not one entrance to Mithrellas' haven, but many and from one of these, that which is closest to young Lothiriel's chambers, enters the Knight-Marshall. Clad nobly with an overgrown mess of a beard, he seems to take solace in the surroundings before catching sight of the Isilrim lord.
He stops and says nothing for a moment. Then: "Lord Arathis."
"Surely Amroth has enough of an interest in you to have known you live."
[Arathis]
Though the utterance burdens the addressed, shutting his eyes in recognition, he does not turn immediately to see its speaker. Arathis instead first waits, casting his gaze southward to Belfalas’ Bay and its lone isle of Tolcrist afar.
“And yet my own interest is little,” he offers then at length, bowing his head to the Marshall, “if I must live with broken word.
“For I was unable to break your daughter’s guard, and I know not her fate.
“I am sorry.”
[Calardan(#30834)]
"She is returned," answers the Knight-Marshall, "Safely."
"What more is there to say?"
[Arathis]
Thus hardens the Isilrim lord his chin shifts in brooding pursuit of speech, and he comes to review Calardan warily.
"Say then the manner of her return. For last I saw her, she was in foul tow to the Pretender and his swordsmen."
[Calardan(#30834)]
"I have purchased her from this Pretender," states Calardan, crossing the path between himself and the Knight-Herald with these words.
"At what price? That I do not know. I can only say I now carry his brand."
[Arathis]
“I am returned from attempt to rescue thy daughter, and bear the mark of the Pretender’s blade upon my breast for it,” says Arathis coolly. “Yet I would not name it a brand.
“Tell and be not terse, Marshall. I am owed no less.”
[Calardan(#30834)]
The Hlorithain Knight regards his counterpart icily. "Owe?" he asks. "Owe? For what do I owe you, Lord Arathis? Your wound shall heal in time."
Pausing at length, Calardan retreats to a bench.
"Forgive me."
He rolls up his sleeve, "The mark of the Pretender and that whom he worships."
[Arathis]
Arathis approaches Calardan unkindly.
“You bear the mark of my Enemy.
“For what?”
[Calardan(#30834)]
"In exchange for my daughter and for Hir Arashen, six of us now bear this mark. The curse of the Pretender and his master was cast upon us," says Calardan. "But Niphredil is returned. If not by blade, by foul deed instead."
"I ask you."
"Would you have borne your Enemy's name for my daughter, Lord Arathis?"
[Arathis]
“Nay,” answers Arathis plainly, “I would sooner be slain. And, for her as for our others, I nearly was, however little thou might heed it.”
The Herald’s cheeks sink. Unmoving, his gaze narrows upon his fellow’s arm.
“I fear there is more to this mark than branded skin. Is there word of service to it, spoken or unspoken?”
[Calardan(#30834)]
"I heed, Lord Arathis, and am thankful that you have seen to your duty. If I have failed to say so, please, blame it on my home and my upbringing, where all but victories are best left unspoken," says Calardan plainly, moving swiftly to cover the brand on his arm. "As for this..." he begins.
"I fear I must show it to our Prince," states the Marshall questioningly.
[Arathis]
“That ye must,” declares the Herald austerely, “and that I say by his Voice.
“Yet he as I shall not begrudge it, if there is no word of service to the mark.
“But tell then, Calardan, what oath is here rent?”
[Calardan(#30834)]
"An oath, yes. To one day serve his wishes," admits Calardan mournfully.
[Arathis]
“Then I must resign my office and beseech the Imrazor for release. His wisdom, I know, shall not deny it.
“For were I to remain, Calardan Hlorithain, I would have to bestow faithful Justice upon those sworn in any manner to the Enemy of Iluvatar, and this garden might know its first blood. The words ye have spake before the Pretender ye may believe vain, given cheaply only to regain thy daughter. Yet it is not so and though you are a father, perhaps you have here overpaid.
“For that the winds alone have heard thy oath is enough for Sulimo to witness it, and earn thereby fateful power to its meaning. Heed that even my bond to share thy daughter’s fate, authored quickly ere my departure, was given sanction and thus was I brought to drift near death upon the seas, amidst the shattered hulls of our ships, until Niphredil’s escape was secured and my word fulfilled.”
The evening’s chill grows as Arathis speaks.
“Thy heart, Marshall, is of a good knight’s. Yet ‘twas even my trusted kinsman who erred to bring thy daughter (and a woman of his household besides) to the Enemy’s Isle. And ‘twas another knight, indeed, who disobeyed command to remain in Pelargir and sailed instead with this kinsman and there bought his life, you say, through foul and dishonorable promise, believing too the gods cheap. Alas, this new ghastliness upon Amroth’s court.”
He pauses then, gazing uncomfortably upon the figure of Mithrellas.
“To the acts that must come I would not append the Prince’s fair name. For hear me:
“I vow now to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World all Man, Elf, Dwarf or Demon, or any such creature, great or small, sovereign or slave, black or grey, that time should bring forth while I yet live, whoso should by perfidy or deed, meant or unmeant, advance the cruel dominion of Sauron over the Dunedain.
“Yea, for I say His Name and fear Him not. And where other men have thought their timidity prudent, long humbled by the shame of the exiles, I shall not.
“Pray that ye branded, ye so forsworn, are spared thy oath’s coming, lest mine should butt.”
There is menace to the tall Dunadan.
[Calardan(#30834)]
"Were I Arathis, Lord of the Isilrim, then my words would be the same," says the Knight-Marshall in reluctant acceptance, "But I am not."
"I am the father of Niphredil Hlorithain, then a subject of Amroth's Prince, then a Knight, then an adherent to the faith of the names whom you summon from above. Perhaps it is my priorities which suit the time."
"Or the time suits my priorities. But still, I shall remain."
"For the Prince himself shall wrench the sign of my duty ere I forgo it."
"Go, if you must but you are my Herald and I shalln't release you willingly."
[Arathis]
“Fiend but friend, I am none thy Herald: thou art not the Imrazor. Show him thy mark, and this too thou shall know.”
Arathis looks away from Calardan and considers again the seas and isle beyond. A laugh, singular and fey, falls from his tense frame, and he muses openly, “Yea, I begrudge no longer Arnafel, knower also of Morgul blade, for naming himself Kinless.
“I begrudge only that, in his return, he has left Erech without guardian.”
He peers back upon the Marshall, coursed queerly by both scorn and fellowship. “That Malach’s oath may hold, and the Lord Isilrim be always a knight of Belfalas, I forgo both names. Call me neither, and believe none that I shall brook command from the forsworn.”
He then departs.
