Bor's Folly: Aimless

There is a rapping on Calenloth's door.

"Lady, I wish to speak with you," says Imrakhor.

The door opens, and there she stands. Her things are mostly packed, a small bag upon the floor,  a small basket upon the chair. "Lord Bragollach?" Calenloth asks, confusion upon her face.

"Who else," answers Imrakhor. "Open the door."

"It... is?" She glances quickly around the room. "I suppose these quarters are no longer... mine. Would you come in, then?"

Imrakhor opens the door and stands within the entrance.

"I wish to see the spider, Calenloth."

A nod. "Certainly," she replies, turning from the doorway, a few steps towards the chair. The lid lifted from the basket, she reaches in, and as she turns back toward the door, the creature, grown larger, creeps along her palm.

"I once knew a woman," he says, watching the spider creep across Calenloth's hand. His words dissipate into silence. "It has grown," he adds.

"I have fed it mostly upon the ticks and insects of the creatures we have hunted," the young woman remembers. "He is surprisingly robust, for such a delicate life." She smiles at Aegass, turning her wrist as he crawls to the back of her hand.

"A woman?" Calenloth continues, breaking her own reverie. "What of she?"

"My aunt," says Imrakhor, "She was called the Spider."

"I disdained the woman and now," he laughs, "Now my fate is twined."

"Oh? Did she... spin? Or," Calenloth considers, "did she tell tales?" Her eyes travel back to Aegass, now stilled, upon her fingers.

"She trapped," says Imrakhor in response. And that is all he has of Lady Lindare of the Erech. "What do you think of it-- is it boon or bane?"

"Trapped." The word repeated, the idea captivating.

Her hand lowers back to the basket, the black creature returned. She pulls the lid back over, securing the package with a green, silk ribbon.

"Your disdain for your relative? Why, it could be either, I fear. Boon, redemption for the choices you have made. Or bane, for she continues to haunt your steps."

"I mean the spider," corrects Imrakhor, smiling.

"Of Aegass?" Amusement fills Calenloth's face, and a smile to match.

"Why, boon, of course. For if he did not live, our journey likely goes no further. But with him, our best hopes are the end of which you seek."

"Though I will miss him, certainly, if we must leave him behind,' she admits.

"And yet, you would give him freely. Without reservation?" asks Imrakhor.

"If that is what is asked of me, yes," she answers. "For that is my duty, here, is it not?"

"I forget what purpose you serve," states Imrakhor. "You do not regale us with fable, nor do you defend the camp from assault." He shakes his head.

"Yet I am here, and I check up upon you."

"Ah. Then perhaps I serve no purpose." Her eyes narrow, but her voice does not waver. "Perhaps I instead should turn back, and you or one of your Squires, or your Knights, can carry Aegass instead."

"Do not be a child," answers Imrakhor, his way still barring the door. "When I made such a company, all had a place. I remember not yours."

"But you have a place here now, and you shalln't leave."

"I..." She turns back, almost as if to retort, but yet catches her words, biting upon her lip, until she laughs. "I admit, I was not certain of my place either. But was grateful all the same."

"No, I shall not leave. I, too, am curious to see how this story ends. And perhaps instead, I will find my place. Or a different one."

"I too once found myself aimless, then I found my aim," says Imrakhor.

"And now I am aimless again. Yet I have walked onwards, regardless."

"That is the lesson to be learned."

"Yourself? Aimless? But I suppose I did not know you then, nor do I now. But I understand. You continue to move forward. And I will, as well."

"Though I do not know where that will bring me, I do not think I need to know," she muses.

"I am only twenty-seven. I yet remember the days of running about my father's banquets with the servants chasing at my heels," says the Lord.

"But they fade by the day, and I am left with death. For that is my gift."

"I deal in death."

"Your gift?" Calenloth stops. "But is that not a gift we all share?"

"Or do you mean you bring death?"

Silence. For a moment, only, as she hesitates. "Do you mean... as in Caldur?"

"So you have heard."

"I too hear the whispers," says Imrakhor sternly.

"Briefly, yes." Calenloth looks to Imrakhor, holding her gaze, steadily, and continues. "Words and glances, hushed voices. The numbers that join our company, and more words."

"But there are those who sympathize to your cause, and among those, several I trust. So they are but whispers. And I suppose you will tell me they are not truths?"

"War is war I shall make no justifications or declarations on my own behalf. Let Amroth judge. Sinner or saint, hero or villain? These titles."

"Immaterial. I am a soldier of Gondor and my sword belongs to Imrahil."

"That, and that alone, matters."

Calenloth smiles, and gives a slow nod, before breaking her gaze.

"I do not envy these choices you must make," she says, slowly. "But you are here, and you check up upon me. And if you lead me to my death, well then, it is yet remarkable I have not met my end already."

"I think the world not so heartless..."

"As to bring death upon you, Lady."

There is nothing more from Imrakhor, and he departs.

She remains standing, blinking slowly, as Imrakhor departs. But her smile widens, slightly, for the moment. As it passes, she moves, turning to lift her bag from the floor and collect her basket, before too, passing through the open doorway.