(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 47 - The Knighting of Amano

Mannish Guest hall

This is a great room with many curtained areas and a large fountain on one end and a small firepit on the other. Chairs are stacked and a linen closet holds enough blankets and sheets for a small army. Tables and chairs are placed comfortably for conversation and discussion. The decor has an unusual amount of wood for the inside of the forest, and great ships are carved hanging from a ceiling that is invisible... The sound of the fountain reminds you of the open sea.

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Though it may be day, the sunlight does not filter through here in Thranduil\'s halls beneath the earth yet the glow of many lamps illumines this elven-realm, even if the sun does not, so that day might pass to night and not be missed nor the kingdom lack for light. A hall for guests of mortal blood, sons of Men, this might be, yet no less fair for the music of the fountain, unheard as it may be by those occupants in slumber.

Alone, in a chair facing the threshold, as he had been wont to do these past hours, the squire Amano sits, his gaze thoughtful the bandages that are wound about his torso have remained untouched since they were last changed, and occasionally he touches the edge of the linen, before his hand drops back into his lap.

Silence reigns here in the halls of Thranduil -- a silence greater than any known to Mortal Man, for here is no sighing of the wind or trilling of the birds, bubbling of brook or rustling of leaves -- nor indeed, any sign of the green world beyond. But footsteps echo in the passage beyond then, to be taken up by the stone walls and cast forth again. Steadily they draw nigh, until the door opens and a man tall and clad all in azure and argent steps within.

The Blue-Squire starts at the sound of one approaching, rising slowly from his chair as the door is swung wide, his movements careful and almost stiff and grey eyes, half shadowed with either sleep or the long hours spent in silence, rest upon the figure who crosses the threshold. Amano inclines his brow inrecognition, his voice but a quiet murmur seeming stifled in the space of the hall, a slight undercurrent of guilt beneath his tone: \"Sire..\"

\"Squire.\"

His own voice low and quiet in the vast chamber, the Lord of the Isilrim inclines his brow in greeting. And with light tread, he makes his way to the side of the wounded Squire, thither to stand and gaze upon him in long silence. \"How fares he?\" he asks in the end, without turning.

Clear though low in inflection, Amano\'s words belie nothing of his own worry, even as his eyes flick to his friend as if in assurance of the Nimothan\'s own health. \"He has slept well these past few hours, sire, though time and again he stirs, as if driven by some dream to wake. A fever has him in its hold, thoughhis wounds have been tended to. Yet he should be well, given time, or so it was said..\"

He trails off, as if unwilling to say more of that to tempt fate, pale profile taut with unease and what else appears to prey on his thoughts.

A faint nod is the only sign that the Lord Isilrim has heard his kinsman\'s words, and silence follows in its wake. Thus long moments pass, ere he turns and seats himself in a carven chair before Amano -- over the youthful Squire that clear gaze sweeps then, from his distraught visage to the bulk of the bandages beneath his tunic:

\"And you?\"

\"I am well enough, sire.\" Steady as the Squire\'s words are in meaning, his tonequavers slightly. \"I only yearn perhaps to go about and see what I may of this elf-kingdom, little of it as I have seen so far. Yet I would ask pardon, if in the battle, instead of holding back those who went forth, doing your bidding in staying to guard Rowaen, I was rash and accompanied them instead. The risk to Rowaen and Drenlyn must have been great, and I received a wounding that might not have been if I had done as you asked.\"

His glance goes to the door, and perhaps what lies beyond it, a forced calm in his expression. Leaning back in his chair, legs clad in high boots covered with the dust of a hundred leagues, the Knight regards the Squire with arched brow. \"Indeed. And you must continue to yearn, for you will stay here and succour Rowaen in any way that you might, until he is well again. For did you not do other than what I had bade you do?\"

A wry smile quirks at Amano\'s lips before his expression is stilled, catching himself almost ruefully. \"Yes, sire. Naught beyond yonder door will I see before Rowaen has recovered, even if it shall be for the duration of our stay hither.\" He expels his breath in what might be a sigh. \"I was told.. that the Swo..that we shall not find here what we seek, and that we soon shall take upthe search again and the long journey. Are we to be setting out for Rivendell, as what I heard, lord?\"

\"We will speak of the path to be taken\" -- level and measured, the Silver Knight continues implacably -- \"afterwards, for this matter is not yet done. For disobeying an order in battle and doing that which put the life of a fellow Squire in danger, I take from you, Amano of the Isilrim...\"

Grim indeed is the full weight of Arnafel\'s words, \"...the stripes of a Blue-Squire.\"

Even the youth\'s control cannot keep from his lips the sigh now, one of resignation and acquiescence both, his head bowed, hiding what emotions may flicker across his countenance. \"So it shall be, lord, that I take fullresponsibility and what you deem as only just, for my behaviour, and lack of wisdom. It shall not be repeated again. My apologies..\"

He remains still, trailing off in hesitation, though he raises his gaze from the floor, features now schooled, unwavering, almost determined, as if he had steeled himself to take the consequences.

And if the Knight-Admiral\'s voice is cool as it ever is, there is yet no harshness in it, \"Do you discern fully why I have done this?\"

\"We were to obey thee in this riding, sire. In disobeying your orders I after a fashion disobeyed the Prince, the Oath which I took and am responsible for upholding..\" Though low, each word slow in coming and on the verge of being whispered, the young Squire manages. \"Or so I understand it, sire. It was too that I put the lives of my fellow squires in danger by leaving my post. I did realize afterward that I was in error, and can make no reason or excuse sufficient to justify my actions.\"

Silence follows.

One in which the Squire may understand the full import of his actions. And when a long time has passed -- measured by naught save the soft bubbling of the fountain -- the Knight speaks:

\"Give me your blade.\"

Without hesitation, though his fingers might fumble in loosing the sheathed sword at his belt, Amano complies, handing the sword to the Knight in a silence that fails to mask his own disappointment and unhappy expression. His eyes almost stray back down to the floor, before he catches himself.

Lordly and proud, the Lord of the ancient Isilrim rises to stand tall before his kinsman, \"You have learnt your last lesson, Squire.\" And taking the blade of the sword in his gauntleted hands, he turns its pommel towards the youth, \"Kneel and take the hilt. Speak even as I do.\"

And low yet though his voice remains -- for the wounded Nimothan stirs in his uneasy slumber -- there is a terrible strength in it, as if brought forth by the ancient words of binding he utters, \"\"I hereby swear to serve faithfully in the office of Swan-knight. To honour the laws of Gondor, to fight with valour, to die with honour, to avenge wrongs done to the Prince of Dol Amroth and to aid him in every need. To this end, I shall be an example to all the people of Gondor and remember ever the old lore of Westernesse from this day forth untilmy Lord gives me leave, or until death take me, or the world ends. So say I, Amano son of Aglahad of the House Isilrim.\"

So speechless is the youth that he for a moment he remains, as if riveted to his chair, eyes wide with a startlement that cannot be misread as else. Hislips open, but no word slips forth at his first attempt, and it is with haste, the final realization dawning upon him, that he rises, taking his place before the Knight, kneeling, his fingers closing upon the hilt of the blade, slowly and with reverence.

His voice, youthful and at first speech, quiet, yet gathering in strength,rings out into the hall, echoing the words that had been spoken by many generations before him: \"I hereby swear to serve faithfully in the office ofSwan-knight.\" Rich and true, those words might have never been said with such gladness, in a hall far from his homeland.

\"To honour the laws of Gondor, to fight with valour, to die with honour.. to avenge wrongs done to the Prince of Dol Amroth and to aid him in every need. To this end, I shall be an example to all the people of Gondor and remember ever the old lore of Westernesse from this day forth until my Lord gives me leave, or until death take me, or the world ends..\" \"So say I, Amano son of Aglahad of the House Isilrim.\"

\"For disobeying an order, I took from you the stripes of a Blue-Squire. For valour and loyalty, I knight you in the name of the Prince.\" And with a sudden smile -- rare indeed, one which, in that instant, would make him seem youthful and fair -- the Knight-Admiral holds forth the blade to the kneeling youth, \"Rise, Amano son of Aglahad of the Isilrim.\"

\"Rise kinsman!\"

And so does the young Isilrim rise to his feet, slowly, his injuries for the time forgotten, clasping the proffered sword with hands that might be less than steady. Straightening, joy on features that earlier had been clouded with regret and worry, he raises his head, unable to keep from smiling unrestrainedly.

Unexpected as the honour was, in his eyes still lingers a trace of shock, as if he were willing himself to believe his good fortune, not a dream as it might seem to be. \"I..I thank ye for this honour, sire...and..\" he says, stumbling, bereft of eloquence. \"I pray I will do it justice, for House Isilrim, and the Prince.. and Gondor.\"