Under the Willow Tree
Dol Amroth: Prince's Castle - Hanging Gardens
A burst of verdure tucked in the space between the citadel to the north and the cliffs leading down to the sea on the south and west. The Gardens are surrounded by a slightly raised terrace, in which grow trees of all sizes and descriptions, from magnificent ancient lebethron to youthful rowan, their boughs and branches overhanging the periphery of the garden. Interspersed in the interior are massive chiseled cubes upon which rest pillars as tall as the trees while smooth stone arches between. Plants and vines spill from these arches in green cascades, birds and insects flitting among them. Sparse grass clings to the ground under this canopy, unable to grow thicker in the shadows beneath.
Though there are lanterns here, attached cunningly to the columns so that they do not show when unlit, they do little to brighten a place that Yavanna has claimed for her own. Insects hover about the flames, and small pools of light are indeed created, but they are insignificant in the vast, leafy darkness of the Gardens. Vaster at night, as they vanish into the shadows, leaving only the trickling sound of the water running in channels through the archways, the rustle of leaves, and the distant crash of surf on rocks.
The Sun is rising glorious red and gold in the east, with birds twittering asthe early risers greet the day. There is not a cloud in the sky..The sky is clear and the air is cool and fresh...
Contents:
Menelglir
Cwen
Calenloth
Lominzil
Calardan
Obvious exits:
[Calardan(#30834)]
There is a song to the Prince's gardens. It is faint at first whistling amidst the foliage, fluttering on the wings of a bird, catching the buzz of an insect. Until at last, growing ever so, it finds its home amongst the terraced trees. Therein it lasts: tall, proud, and beautiful a song.
There is one of the trees who has a vistor the willow, its branches low-hanging and green, its visitor leaning against its trunk with a sword at his lap. He, Calardan Hlorithain, the heir to the Willow, and the Hill as well.
[Cwen(#30783)]
Alone the Knight is not. For the garden does house another. That person is Cwen. Her golden hair lays around her - like the sunshine, and blue eyes, they would be lively yet now they hold none of that. Only residing there is a pain and sadness. Their red as well showing that there were tears not long ago.
The woman was hiding behind the trunk of a tree and it is the rustling of leaves that marks her passage as she decides it is now time to stop hiding under the leaves. A hand risen said red eyes are rubbed and then a yawn is stifled, tiredness shows in her expression.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
Accompanying his Knight, a Squire, reposing beneath the shade of the willow. The song, curious, buzzes by his ear. But his eyes are closed.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Oh," says Menelglir. The song's first lyrics. "Perhaps not."
Two pair of feet pause on the pathway as the Telpekhor Knight peers into the greenery, peering betwixt fronds. Next to him, Calenloth, the Knight's arm offered to escort her forward. Or not.
[Calenloth(#27998)]
Taken, the arm is, of course, and Calenloth smiles first to Menelglir before rising upon her toes to follow his gaze. A shrug, nonchalantly rolls off one shoulder. "Tis just as well," she replies, softly. "Better to be pleasant and say hello, at least?"
[Calardan(#30834)]
"Squire," says the Hlorithain, of a sudden mood after the silence enjoyed by the pair nestled under the willow tree. He says, "Speak to me of duty."
[Cwen(#30783)]
There is a look of surprise upon the face of the Rohirric woman. Blinking a few times feet seem as rooted to the ground as the trees are. Swallowing the lump in her throat the woman goes to take a step back. Her silent retreat fails as a branch is stepped upon and snaps loudly. Going red Cwen chews her lower lip and goes to turn away from the group in an attempt not to be seen.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
Lominzil's eyes open he was not, after all, asleep.
"Duty is something that must be done, sir," he answers quietly, pulling himself onto his elbows. "It is the force that drags men to great and terrible deeds, and to their doom."
[<#17324>] 'You are right. Proper. But look,' says Menelglir, gesturing through the shrubbery toward Knight and Squire. He takes a step, then another, in.
"... ... ... taken ... ..., ... ... my ... ... ..., ... ... ... duty. ... good ..., I think--... I know not ... ... ... can ... ... ... still ... ... Squire."
"... ..., ... ... greet ..., ... doubt ... ... ... sway ... ... ... ... ... ... ...."
[Calardan(#30834)]
There is quite a pause from the Hlorithain. The man seems wrapped in quiet contemplation so much so that he does not hear the snap of the branch.
"Answer me this, then," asks Calardan at last, "What if you are called to deeds that surpass your ability to perform them. What then, my Squire?"
[<#27998>]
"... ... ... sit ..., ..., ... ... ... enjoy ... ...?" Calenloth turns closely to the Knight, pausing in her steps. "... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... find ... different ... ... ..., ... ... by learning ... ... to a ... teacher."
"... ... ...... ...," she observes, taking another step forward. 'Let us greet them, after all.'
[Cwen(#30783)]
Not able to make her full leave without being seen nor heard Cwen retakes her spot behind the trunk and sits there under the branches and leaves, in silence, listening.
[<#17324>] 'Yes, let us,' Menelglir says, taking a step forward, hesitating, then moving resolutely toward Knight and Squire, though not so determined that he will pull Calenloth along if she objects.
'I have an interest in this discussion. And apparently, much more to learn.'
[Calardan(#30834)]
The Knight's question is in the air for but a moment.
Then his hand reaches into the sky and seizes his words, before driving a fist lightly to his Squire's heart like a salute. "Answer from here, Lominzil."
[Lominzil(#31527)]
"I do them," Lominzil answers the Knight, pale gaze betraying nothing. "And I hope that, when the need comes, I can manage with the best of my ability.
"If I cannot," glancing hither and thither to the noises, and people, surrounding them, "I attend to my doom."
Cwen climbs the stair and passes northeast through the archway.
Cwen has left.
[Calenloth(#27998)] The pace matched after the initial tug upon her arm, and Calenloth steps lightly across the gardens to keep up with the Knight. "Your doom, Lominzil?" she cannot help but interrupt. "You sound like Lord..."
Her statement cut quickly by a look to Menelglir.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Like Lord Bragollach?" Menelglir finishes for Calenloth. "I had the same thought."
He pauses. "Hir Calardan, Squire Lominzil. Forgive us for interrupting. I could not help but overhear, and I have a question, if I may?"
[Calardan(#30834)]
It seems that the willow has robbed the Hlorithain of his formality. He greets Calenloth and Menelglir knowingly, but only with a nod.
"Go on, Hir," he says, his eyes turning observingly to Lominzil.
[Calenloth(#27998)]
"Forgive me my own forwardness, Lominzil," Calenloth cedes gently to the silent squire.
"But your comments, they do worry me."
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"The question is for Squire Lominzil," Menelglir says, looking to that man. "I have been tasked with something that is above my abilities, or so I am told. At least my current abilities, for I do not think and do not hear."
"And so, being a Knight is above my abilities, at least as they currently are."
"I go to my doom, then, as you say?"
[Lominzil(#31527)]
"Hir Menelglir, you think too little of yourself," answers Lominzil firstly, looking gravely into the eyes of the young Knight. And from there, to Calenloth.
And then: "What would you do?"
[Calenloth(#27998)]
Calenloth looks to Menelglir curiously, gazing for a moment, before she too, nods her head to agree with Lominzil. "He speaks truthfully, for certain. Perhaps the task is meant to challenge you to grow?"
"Lominzil, I cannot tell you how you should feel. But it seems as though you have let go of hope."
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Nay, Lominzil, I only know that the criticisms were real and that I should strive to be better. But even so--even though I often feel the job is above me, I do not move forward expecting my doom--I will not lose hope," Menelglir says.
"As for what would I do...grieve. Yes, for the loss of the man, of the Knight, of your friend. But do not linger in the darkness--we should not have to lose you both to it."
[Calardan(#30834)]
Calardan's face reflects in the blade and he does not yet speak. Yet the slightest tilt brings that reflection to Lominzil. He observes his Squire.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
"Hope? No, cousin, I still have hope: that one day the Sea might be clear of sails dyed black that Imrahil's pennant might fly free and proud that my sister would laugh as she once did. That I have hope does not mean I am unwilling to face death for its sake."
Lominzil leans against the trunk of the willow tree. "I am done grieving," he says quietly. "My knight is Hir Calardan."
[Calardan(#30834)]
"The trees still blossom in Amroth, you see?" asks Calardan, whimsically.
[Arathis]
Unattended and blithe, with neither irons atop nor ornaments aside, Arathis passes in review beneath the trees. His high head near their branches, a trying whistle lilts from him: both his step and his breath appear to follow a songbird of the willow.
He appears in his approach heedless of the talk.
[Calenloth(#27998)]
With a small squeeze of support by her hand upon the arm she still holds, Calenloth still focuses upon Lominzil. "Is that so?" the girl replies, thoughtfully, albeit taken aback by the sudden wave of Lominzil's words. "I suppose in your stoicism, the light is held within, shadowed. And though we cannot..."
A glance backward at the footsteps, her head turned over her shoulder to glance at the new arrival.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Then his memory honor by grieving for your brother in arms," Menelglir says. "For I cannot see it either, this light, though I know you do not lie, either."
As Calenloth turns, so too does Menelglir. His lips press together and his posture becomes more formal.
[Calardan(#30834)]
Lominzil's Knight is sprung to his feet as Arathis approaches. Of the fallen willow leaves that lie upon his blade, Calardan blows them clean.
"Lord Isilrim," he salutes.
Lominzil says no more, only stands.
[Calenloth(#27998)]
And as Menelglir stands straighter, Calenloth too, steps away, dropping her arm away as she curtseys. "Sir Arathis," she greets the Knight Herald, rising, and falling silent.
[Arathis]
So greeted, the Herald says, “Your pardon, Hir! I marked ye not, for I was listening to the birds. Indeed, ye find me now sour for that black-winged rogue, there over-fat, sings a song unbeknownst to me, in a tongue that is strange.”
He looks between the gathered, smiling at the girl, ere adding loosely to the talk of light: “Have the branches grown so thick?”
[Calardan(#30834)]
His salute rescinded, the Hlorithain says, "Come beneath the boughs of the willow tree, Hir Arathis. Let us see that your eyes are not clouded."
[Conalmir(#31396)] Another walks in the gardens this day, frown and smile flitting across his face alternating, like shadow and light flits across a garden beneath clouds that blow across the sun. Conalmir hardly notices the others gathered not far away until he is nearly on top of them.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
Belatedly, reaction likely slowed by the informality of the surrounding greenery, Menelglir salutes. The gesture, though, is withdrawn slowly, replaced with a mix of humor and curiousity at Calardan's invitation to the Knight Herald.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
Lominzil's salute lingers his eyes run to Conalmir and then away.
[Calenloth(#27998)]
"Thick, the branches grow, yes, Sir Arathis, in the minds of some, and the hearts of others," Calenloth replies, softly. "But one can only hope to clear a path when needed?" A smile too, across her face, as the men of the Order muse and readjust.
[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir's eyes widen slightly as he sees who all is assembled, and he salutes hurriedly but the smile drifts across his face again unbidden.
[Arathis]
"But I am irked," begins Arathis, "it irks me, Hir, for methought I had learned the simple speeches of all of Amroth's birds." Lowering himself to sit by the bark, he glances again upwards. "I have mind to send this rogue to Mandos for sparing me his tale."
He retrieves then a queer wooden instrument from his side, and with it a small pouch. The fragrance of sweet galenas, a flower unforeign to the Prince's gardens, wafts thence potently.
"Pardon, lady, but I believe we are unmet." A waved hand means to drive away the salutes and lessen the air.
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"Hir!" Menelglir says in surprise, suddenly sounding his age. He stops, clears his throat, then simply tilts his head to the instrument and pouch that Arathis holds.
"Tis only that I did not realize you had obtained such...and acquired that particularly pastime."
So startled is he that he forgets the introduction of Calenloth.
[Calardan(#30834)]
The Hlorithain withdraws to the Willow.
"You wish to know the names of all that pass between the Prince's gates?" he says, chuckling, "Here are Menelglir and Lominzil and Conalmir..."
"And...Calenloth."
[Calenloth(#27998)]
"As the Lord Hlorithain says," Calenloth begins, a small smile and a raised eyebrow cast to Menelglir. "I am Calenloth. Nimothan," she continues, to clarify. "I suppose our paths did not cross during your stopover through our camp, but please forgive me for my rudeness in that manner." Another curtsey, another rise to stand.
But a glance at the lengthening shadows of the brush upon the manicured grasses, she appears distressed, almost, and hurriedly, "But the afternoon has grown later than I wish, and I must return. A pleasure to meet you, finally, Sir." And with that, she smiles to Lominzil and Calardan, briefly, before stepping back towards the gates.
[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir's own smile remains - faint, but unmistakeable - and he nods to Calenloth as she leaves but returns his attention to the puzzling matter of Hir Arathis and his - contraption, which Menelglir seems to recognize.
[Arathis]
"Not all was foul in the north kingdom, Menelglir," answers Arathis, reclining and taking fire to the head of his instrument. A curious thing happens then: a smoke, heavy and aromatic, escapes his mouth and buffets about his visage, as even the dragons of yore.
"Should I not?" he responds simply to Calardan, a mirrored jest bearing his words. He nods then to Calenloth, monitoring her departure. "The ladies flee, and the squires hold their tongues. Have I become so grave?
"Or perhaps the bird is theirs?"
[Menelglir(#17324)]
"No, not all was foul in the north kingdom, nor do I regret my time there--that spent in the valley in particular, with its house and library...but..."
"I suppose it is just a wonder to see such here. And a small joy in a way." Menelglir bows his head once, as if in thanks, thinking, silent.
It is not until Calenloth takes sudden note of the time and leaves that he comes to the presnt again. A hurried--and worried--glance is sent toward Calenloth. And then, turning to the remaining group, Menelglir says, "Forgive me, sirs. But as this is an informal and social meeeting....I must away."
A quick salute of fist to heart before the young knight turns to chase after Calenloth's skirts as the last sight of them disappears through the garden gates.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
Within the shadow of the willow's branches, Lominzil leans, watches, listens, avoiding attention and conversation.
[Conalmir(#31396)] "What bird, sir?" Conalmir asks curiously, glancing up into the tree branches but not, just at the moment, seeing anything unusual. He listens to Menelglir's comments and a faint crease appears between his eyebrows at the sudden sight of a smoking knight.
[Arathis]
Arathis notes the squire's crease, meeting it soon with his own.
"Yea, what bird, sir," repeats the Lord Herald, rising away from his willow. "The same bird, sir, that you have spirited from the western wilds, here alien and meant to spy upon the forces of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth."
He reaches behind him, nearing to loom over the youth: "Calardan, your sword.
"Conalmir Tarikhor, to your knees.
"Judgment is upon ye."
[Calardan(#30834)]
Perhaps before was a Knight of the Willow. Here now is a Knight of the Sword, a blade inspected and then handed to Arathis with two gloved hands.
Beneath Calardan, unseen, is a stack of clothes.
[Conalmir(#31396)] "Spy upon the prince?" Both of Conalmir's eyebrows go up in astonishment. "Never, sir. Prince Imrahil has all my loyalty." He sounds unexpectedly fierce as he says this, and the frown returns, more deeply, though it doesn't seem to be directed at either knight. His eyes widen at the sight of the sword, and he kneels, as ordered, a little awkwardly for having one arm yet in a sling, protesting, "Truly, sir. Even against my own kinsmen - though they be no kin of mine! - do I give my allegience to our lord."
[Lominzil(#31527)]
Lominzil stoops, too, but he does not kneel. He stoops, half-hidden in the verdant roots of the willow.
[Arathis]
The blade is raised as if for execution: “Judgment is upon ye.”
Its point, however, lands only in the dirts before the squire.
“Grab the hilt and repeat your Oath with all your loyalty, if you wish to stay it.”
[Conalmir(#31396)] Conalmir swallows as the blade lands in the earth in front of him. He stares at it for a long minute, then slides the sling from his arm and places his hands on the hilt and looks up at the knights, past them to the shadow that is Lominzil, then back to Arathis. Steadily, though his voice is a bit rough, he repeats the words of the oath.
"Here do I swear fealty to Gondor and service to the Lord and Prince of Dol Amroth: to speak and to be silent, to do and and to let be, to come and to go, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end."
[Lominzil(#31527)]
And in the grass, Lominzil listens.
[Arathis]
The sword is returned to Calardan.
Replacement is soon issued, the Dunadan knight's tongue steeled and grave: "And this do I hear, Arathis, Herald of your Prince and Lord of the Isilrim and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is freely given: fealty with love, valor with honor, and oath-breaking with vengeance.
"Rise, Conalmir of the Tarikhor, Blue Squire of the Swan. You are hereby known as a knight aspirant, warrior and champion of the Virtues, to be learned of and burdened by their governance. Your deeds with the Bragollach's company have not gone unnoticed but even as you have combated the world, mastering so an ancient wyrm, you shall now have to master yourself."
The Lord Herald stands unmoving, awaiting his fellows.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
It is now apparent that Lominzil, rising, holds a bundle in both hands. With reverence, it is displayed: a linen tunic trimmed with silk, with the Silver Swan serene on the breast.
It is identical to Conalmir's white tunic, save that the colors are reversed: it is blue, and trimmed with white.
Stepping forward, Lominzil offers it wordlessly, gravely, to the Tarikhor.
[Conalmir(#31396)] The squire listens to Arathis mutely, and after a moment, stands. "Yes, sir," he says quietly. "Thank you, sir." Eyes flick to Calardan and he repeats, "Thank you, sir." Reaching out to take the new tunic from Lominzil, he holds it, sling - for the moment - forgotten.
[Arathis]
The airs of the Dunadan lord have thickened and though his bird yet sings, he no longer minds it.
He departs heavy of foot.
[Lominzil(#31527)]
"Put it on," murmurs Lominzil, smiling mildly. "And then, your sling."
The younger Squire then removes to the shadows once again.
[Conalmir(#31396)] "Oh." Conalmir, who has been looking after Arathis, looks down at his new tunic with a start, as if he has forgotten he holds it. Carefully, somewhat stiffly, he changes from white to blue, sliding his arm once more into the narrow black strap that supports it.
[Calardan(#30834)]
"Come, Lominzil," says Calardan, "He has been given sword and cloth." The Hlorithain's eyes turn departingly to Conalmir. "The rest. Let him figure that out on his own." He smiles and pats his Squire to depart.
