The Oath of Imrahil

Elendor - Tuesday, February 29, 2000, 2:13 PM

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Weather: Stormy

Time: Dusk

Season: Autumn

Date: Sterday - September 10, 3019

Real Time: Tue Feb 29 12:33:25 2000

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Ivriniel\'s Quarters

This room radiates the very aura of warmth and friendliness, almost a direct extension of the Princess herself. The burning fire behind the hearth provides an emotional and visual centerpiece, the dancing flames casting rays of warmth and light about the walls. Above this burning soul of the room, an ancient cherry mantle frames the fire, the deep red wood accentuating the shifting flames and the flitting shadows. The walls are adorned with two giant tapestries which perfectly accent each other. One is a large scene of a massive battle, the chaos of the encounter reflected in the blurred faces, the other a detailed scene of a departing ship, the emotion on the subject\'s faces clearly expressing their pain and loss of departure. Both are heavy on shades of blue, perhaps portraying the emotional and physical pain in both scenes

The rest of the room is decorated for a scholar, though a royal one with a taste of style. A large, plush blue couch provides the centerpiece for the other tables and chairs about it, all in the same deep cherry color of the mantle, seeming to absorb the very light of the room. A sideboard is flush against the white stone wall, and upon it lies a silver decanter with a number of crystal goblets, reflecting the light toward the fine silver, and back upon itself, creating a myriad display of dancing colors. A silver vase mirrors the decanter and fresh flowers seem to literally grow from within the container, their scent afloat within the room.

Upon the North wall, overlooking the teeming city of Dol Amroth and the shimmering Bay of Belfalas a window provides a peek into another world. On sunny days the very sounds of the city drift into the room, upon the whirling winds of Gondor, like a soft secret in the visitor\'s ear. A deep cherry window seat holds a number of weathered tomes, their worn covers proof of their deep wisdom. And upon the far wall, a carven door hints at the Princesses sleeping chambers, the tiny figures cut into the dark wood like small voices singing songs of serenity to the visitors of this room, and hinting that the real beauty lies beyond the portal.

The howling of the wind and the lashing of the rain against the panes of glass in the windows goes unnoticed by the occupant of this room. Pacing back and forth in front of the fire, Lady Ivriniel mutters to herself and fists of rage fly into the air as she punctuates her thoughts with apparent anger. Haggard and pale, the woman does not appear to be herself as raven tresses fly with her movements, unchecked by the jewelled combs usually present in her hair. If one were to look closely, they would see the gaping spot in her hair...the one that her hand reaches up to touch now and again as a fresh wave of anger mottles her face.

Turning to strick a flint to the lamp to dispel the gloom in her room, a thin line of red can be seen marring the delicate skin of the woman\'s neck. Wincing as the movement pains her shoulder, she reaches up to check the placement of a bandage resting just under her clothing. As her fingers come back with a fresh display of blood, a sigh sounds as she goes in search of her ever present tapestry bag.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

The silence of the night is no more -- for it is broken by the howling fury of the storm. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the wind keens with the voices of the dead. But within the Marble Citadel is a great silence -- one of forebooding, for Dol Amroth awaits the coming of its master.

In the corridor without, the voices of many men rise above the roar of the storm, and their steady tread draws near the chamber. And the doors are cast open -- and in that moment, a searing streak of lightning casts its stark light in the room, and there stand revealed...

...a dozen men, Knights of the Swan all, clad in glittering mail and high helms. And in the doorway, soaked by the rain, with billowing cloak and streaming hair, a man tall and grim.

Rising quickly from whence she sat, Lady Ivriniel hears the heavy footsteps approaching her room and dread lines her face. Frozen by the shadows as the door casts open, her eyes widen in fear and perhaps pain, as her brother is illuminated by the flash of lightning.

A noble bow of her head and the softly spoken words barely heard above the raging storm outside her window and the own inside her mind, \"My liege and brother. Welcome home.\" A wane smile does she give the Prince of Dol Amroth as one again, her right hand rises unbidden to the heavy braid of hair missing from her raven tresses. Wary eyes graze over the knights in their glittering mail and helms before they return to the commanding presence of her brother.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

In silence yet, the Prince turns and shuts the door -- and forth he strides then, to grasp Ivriniel\'s shoulders -- ever with care -- and turn her to the wan light by the high windows.

Shadowed he stands, so that naught be seen of his face -- but his voice comes from the darkness:

\"Ah, my sister! What have they done to you?\"

Crying out as the Prince grasps her shoulder, Ivriniel blanches with the pain of his action. Her silvery grey orbs flutter closed as she sways, one hand reaches up to clasp the arm of Imrahil as she struggles to maintain composure. \"Please...\", she gasps softly as she moves the injuried area out of harm\'s way. A sheen of perspiration shines upon her skin as her eyes open and raise to the tall form of her brother and says simply, \"They have gravely damaged my soul, my brother. Sleep does not hold rest for my weary body and mind as the images of those men on the Palangaer run rampant through my dreams, awakening me with terror anew.\"

Swallowing down what could have been a sob of distress, a false smile of reassurance slips across her tight lips as she whispers, \"I shall be fine brother.....\", adding with deadly resolve, \"fine when I can rest knowing you have slain the men that would treat me as such.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

His hand leaving Ivriniel\'s shoulder even as if it had been a branding iron he had clasped, the Prince holds her arm, steadying her -- and in his voice is a great distress, \"Forgive me!\"

And when she has spoken again, he leads her gently to the carven chair by the window, \"Come, seat yourself.\"

\"And tell me all!\"

Weakness threatens to buckle the legs of the Princess as the steadying arm of her brother guides her to a chair, trembling fingers rest on his arm. Ivriniel draws in a long breath as she nervously smoothes her hands down the lines of her satin dress, again, one hand goes up to the spot missing from her raven tresses as her eyes rest upon the face of her beloved brother.

The howling of the wind whines loudly in the silence between the two as Imrahil awaits the story from his sister and finally her voice speaks of the horror witnessed upon the seas.

There is a merchant in Edhellond that has a very rare herb for sale, one that is only grown in the hot climate of Umbar. He has men daring enough to venture there for the procurement of this herb and I purchase it from him at inflated prices. I was on such a trip when the Palangaer was overtaken by the Corsairs, led by the Dread Pirate Khazamr.\" Laying her head against the back of the chair and then wincing with the pain of that movement she says, \"Many atrocities were committed that day brother, most on board the ship were killed by the crew of the Torath.\" Her bottom lip quivers and a sheen of unshed tears fill her haunted silvery eyes as her voice drops off.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Kneeling before the White Lady, silent and still as the statues in the halls of the Citadel, the Prince listens to her tale -- a dark figure, save for the gem burning upon his brow.

And when she falters, he takes her hands, and his voice is low and soft, \"You have not told me all. You have not told of what they did to you.\"

Ever so slowly one tear streaks down the porcelain skin of the elder Imrazor, her hands claps those of her brother as her eyes hold his, the gentle tone of his voice her undoing as everything rushes out of her in an explosion of words, halted, broken......sobs of pain ripped from her chest as the evil of her tale get told. \"They surrounded my guards and demanded our surrender.....killing one, before me, his body dropping to my feet. The horrid sounds of torture and looting.\" A ticking in her right jaw begins and she continues, \"Khazamr held his scimitar to my neck, threatening my death. Anger rushed through me and I pressed against the blade, feeling the blood trickle down my skin...knowing that you would not rest until you had taken revenge for his actions. One of his men shot an arrow into my shoulder, causing the pain you witnessed upon clasping me there.\"

Laughing bitterly, \"Khazamr left me alive to strike terror in the House Imrazor, cutting the braid of my hair as a grim reminder of the control he had of the Princess of Dol Amroth. My dagger was drawn and buried in his back and then....oh the valar save my soul, he mixed his blood with mine as it dripped from my poisoned dagger.\" Swallowing quickly as the bile threatens to spew from her her words again speak as she says, \"The last I remember is the hilt of a scimitar hitting the back of my head and taking me from the world. When I awoke, the Palangaer was drifting into the Bay of Belfalas and I was stripped of my possessions.

Shaking as she raises eyes to her brother, hatred turning them to black shiny orbs, \"He left me alive to torture you as my death would have made a martyr.....yes, strike fear into the House Imrazor were his words.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Yet he kneels before his sister with bowed head, Imrahil the Fair -- and his hands upon hers grow ever tighter. And in the end, a deep breath, and his clasp loosens. In the darkness, he looks up, and it is as if he sees the blood upon her raiment for the first time.

\"By Ulmo! Wait a moment -- I will send for a leech!\"

Tenderly, Lady Ivriniel raises her hand to touch the bowed head of her brother. Soft are her murmurs , reassuring him of her health, \"No leeches are needed Imrahil, I am seeing to my own injuries. There was not enough flesh left to stitch where the arrow pierced my shoulder. A compress of woundwort will stop the blood, once I apply it. Do not worry overmuch, I will be fine.\"

Her voice hardens to an unrecognizable sound as she says, \"I want to go with you.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Long Imrahil gazes upon his sister, and his eyes glint brightly in the darkness -- and the silence grows, such that even the storm would seem to wait with bated breath. Until he speaks quietly...

\"Do not ask this of me, my sister.\"

Leaning forward in the carven chair, intently staring at her brother, Ivriniel says, \"Please do this for me Imrahil, set my mind at ease. Let me witness their deaths and know that I am free of this horror.\", her fingers clench the sleeve of Imrahil, fingernails digging into his flesh as she pleads her case.

When I close my eyes, let there be images of their deaths running through my mind instead of the pain that is there now.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"Ah! How can I let you do this, my sister?\"

And the cry has the sorrow of long years of grief festering in the darkest shadows of the spirit in it.

\"Morwen and Finduilas I have lost already! And now you would have me take you into death and peril so that I may watch you fall too?\"

Silently the White Lady of Belfalas considers the words of her brother, solemn and drawn is her face as she says, \"How can you deny me this brother?\"

\"My faith that you will protect my life allows me to ask this of you.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

And now the Prince leans forward, and grey eyes meet grey, so like to them -- for they are kin, brother and sister. And in a voice troubled and with a dire anxiety in it, he speaks.

\"Do not let them do this to you, my sister! Your flesh they have wounded -- do not let their hate enter you and maim your spirit as well. You are the White Lady -- would you fall into darkness?\"

Silvery grey orbs shine with a sheen of unshed tears as they hold those of her brother and again her hand rises to touch the face of Imrahil, as if in some way reaffirming the safety of her brother\'s fief.

Her lips quiver and tremble as she softly tells him the last of her story, \"Brother, the sad tale is not yet over. The dagger that was buried in the back of Khazamr, was poisoned by my own hand.\"

Sadly her head shakes as she says, \"Who would have thought he would hold it over my throat and drip his own blood against my flesh, to mingle his blood with mine? Circumstances are not oft as we wish my dearly beloved brother, his words still haunt me....that his blood would corrupt my soul.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"Nay -- do not think so, lady!\"

\"Fierce and low now the Prince speaks, and there is such a force in his words that the very night must give way to dawn before them -- for nothing can stand before them.

\"You are of the high blood of Numenor, my sister, and that of the Firstborn. A child of Imrazor and Mithrellas tainted by a few drops of Southron blood? Do not have such little faith in your lineage!\"

The wisdom of her many years alights the eyes of Ivriniel with a knowledge that cannot be denied. Softly her voice confirms her earlier words, \'Nay brother, the high blood of Numenor cannot deny the poison that was applied to that dagger. A slow acting poison, causing a long and lingering death was mixed with blood. Already I feel the weakness in my limbs Imrahil.\"

\"Vengeance shall not be yours alone, my beloved kinsman.\" A smile bordering on evil curves her lips as she laughs, \"The antidote for the poison is only to be found in sunny fields along the edges of forests. The dreaded Corsair shall have to travel far to obtain a cure for his ills.\"

Hysterical laughter bubbles forth as her amusement grows, \"Can you not see the Corsairs combing our land for a cure to heal their leader? Tis the only thing that takes my mind from the horror of that ship. To awake amid all of those dead, sun baking their bloody, hacked bodies and insects buzzing as they delighted in their feast.\" Shuddering as her head drops, solemn, haggard and drawn in silent repose.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

Dark with brooding malice are the shadows which come forth to enshroud the Children of Imrazor, the very spirit of all that is ill and fallen. And it would seem that the images of the cruely slain waver form before the two, piteous and tormented even in death, summoned by Ivriniel\'s words.

And with something akin to dread, the Prince of Dol Amroth draws back, \"The poison...I will heal it, this I swear -- but I fear the hatred begins to overwhelm you even now!\"

\"I fear it is too late.\"

The raven tresses of Ivriniel, newly shorn to remove the traces of Khazmr\'s debasement, wave softly against her face as she lifts one hand to touch the face of her brother. A smile, soft and sweet as a newborn babe alights her face, an expression of old upon her countenance as she says, \"Brother, do not worry overmuch about the hatred in my heart. It shall lessen with time, our noble heritage would demand no less. Clinging to it like a mantle would allow the Harad to become victorious....and that shall never happen! It shall be cast from my heart like the heavy stone of burden that it is.\"

Leaning forward her soft lips press against the brow of Imrahil, as she then whispers softly, \"Take care my brother, I have now seen with my own eyes the evil with which you fight. That burden is heavier than any I could think to bear.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

\"Too often have I seen hate bring the noblest men low to think it is an easy burden to set aside, my sister. Very well then!\"

And of a sudden he rises -- tall he looms above the White Lady, looking down upon her for a moment grown old, ere turning and striding and to the high windows. And he casts them open.

And the storm sweeps into the room.

Rising from her chair as Imrahil casts open the windows, the storm blowing her dress tight against her form, whipping her hair around in its torment, Ivriniel reaches to clear her eyes of wind blown hair as the rain splatters her form. Puzzled by the actions of her beloved brother she moves forth to stand beside him, the fury of the storm circling around them madly as a crash of thunder booms, lightening illuminating the two figures in an eerie glow. No hand is reached to close the open windows, allowing the eye of the storm to whip into her quarters, scattering belongings to and fro.

No word is spoken as the tumultuous storm rages on.......the one in her quarters as well as the one locked deep within her soul, seen only by the torment in those silvery orbs that hold those of her brother.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

One last time, the Prince looks to his sister, and there is a distant sorrow in that gaze, \"Thus, I take your burden of hate upon myself. I pray that you find peace.\" And he turns to the open window...and the night.

Around them in the chamber, the storm rages -- and the Prince of Dol Amroth draws forth his blade and holds it aloft. Thus he stands akin to a rock in the very midst of the fury of the night -- in the midst of the howling winds and the lashing rain -- and lightning seems to play about the sword, and the fire of the skies wreathes about it. In that moment, in a voice rising above the thunder, with his gaze through the windows to the Sundering Seas, Imrahil the Fair swears an oath.

\"Before Manwe upon Taniquetil -- before Mandos in his Halls -- before Orome in his woods -- before all the Valar and before the One upon his Throne, I vow this. I vow vengeance upon Khazamr the Black, and neither death nor life, friend nor foe, darkness nor light, man nor beast nor creature of foullest evil spawned shall keep me from it!\"

A bolt of lightning strikes a nearby tree, as if in response to the oath of the Prince, tearing the trunk asunder, the crack of the wood an ominous sound. Wide are the eyes of the Princess as the full import of her brother\'s words filter to her being. An oath of vengeance that shall hold her beloved kinsmen in its wrath until the oath is fulfilled.

Slender shoulders shake with the depth of her emotion as deep sobs of sadness rise from deep within her chest. Dropping to her knees, her gown puddling around her, mindless of the storm as the fury inside of her is drawn forth by the words of Imrahil.

Deep, gut wrenching cries of pain rise and spill from her lips. Freedom. Sweet freedom. No longer shall the House Imrazor be stricken by the fear and hatred planted by Khazamr. Broken is the evil cast upon her that day on the seas as the last of her tears spill from her eyes.

Soft hiccups replace the torment of earlier as the blood of her Numenorean heritage rises within her. The noble head of the woman rises from its bow of sorrow and her graceful form arises to stand before her brother. Love and gratitude shine in her silvery grey eyes as she beholds him, reaching forth with both arms to encircle him she says softly, \"Thank you my brother, for saving me. The Valar be with you in your quest of vengeance.\"

[Imrahil(#29017)]

And when the Oath is done -- one heavier than any mountain in Arda -- the Prince sheathes his blade and shuts the windows against the storm.

And peace returns.

To Ivriniel he turns then, holding her with care for the wounds which mark her, \"You are my sister, lady -- no thanks will I take from you for this. But come, you are not well yet. Rest a while.\"

But his face is drawn and weary...for the burden\'s weight makes itself known even now.

The howling of the storm abates quickly at the closing of the windows, the room once again a haven with the fire crackling merrily in the hearth and the scent of athelas fresh and sweet upon the air.

Drawing back from her brother, long does Ivriniel gaze at his face, the drawn, weary lines already evident in his face. Worry rests upon her own brow, but she moves to do his bidding. The edge of her bed, just a few paces away, beckons the woman as weariness overtakes her. Stretching her long form upon the bed, Ivriniel draws the handmade quilt over her damp clothing and a yawn is quickly covered by one delicate hand.

\"As you wish, my brother. As you wish.\" Dark lashes flutter against porcelain cheeks as she drifts into a state of relaxation and then stirring suddenly, her voice whispers softly, \"My heart is thankful to be home, safe within these walls.\" Delicate fingers twitch as her body drifts further into sleep, soft and slow her chest rises as she rests.

[Imrahil(#29017)]

With soft tread and a hand upon the hilt of his blade, the Prince makes his way to the doorway -- and thither he pauses, turning to look upon the sleeping form of his sister.

Thus he stays for a long moment -- and in the shadows, a dying spark flares brightly in the gem upon his brow ere fading. And the doors open and close gently then -- and he is gone.