(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 2 - The Pledge

A Blessing is Given

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Tower of Imrazor, Pinnacle Level(#18685Rn)

Hoary years press down here at the acme of Imrazor\'s ancient tower, its stone walls curving up to a perfect point barely a dozen feet above. Smooth flawlessness surrounds you, but there is a faint sense of brittleness to the walls--perhaps of bones stretching thin. The rounded chamber is mostly empty, save for a broad, pointed window set to the west, and a barred lebethron door northward. A stair spirals down to the lower levels of this ancient tower, tucked against the southern wall.

Daylight pours in through the window to the north, striking the walls and coruscating through the chamber with a brilliance unequaled even by the white stone outside for here there is a subtly different texture to the rock, filled as it is with a myriad of shining, crystalline flecks sparkling like new-fallen snow.

Obvious exits:

Ironbound Door and Spiral Stairs

Rowaen has arrived.

Amano has arrived.

The echoes of ages long past dwell in this chamber -- here, at the pinnacle of the tower built by a Scion of Numenor in the deeps of time. And a crimson fire floods it, a last gift bequeathed by Arien ere she sinks into her nightly slumber.

Silent as the hallows of the Kings it lies -- but there is one here of the blood of Westernesse, to whom those echoes whisper clearly. For the Prince of Dol Amroth is seated in the great chair set at the center of the chamber, and his gaze is to the West where the sea murmurs restlessly beneath the flaming sky of sunset.

[Rowaen(#16595)]

The hollow sound of footsteps as a young man enters the ancient pinnacle, his tred is careful, almost if he is afraid to disturb the silence of this place... The youth who enters, is clearly one belonging to the White Squire\'s of Dol Amroth, of the purest white is his garment, his hair of the darkest black, forming a contrast with this spotless white. Upon noting the presence of the Prince, the youth stands fast. And after keeping his silence for several moments, suddenly his voice reaches out... \"My Lord, I greet you on this day.. Yet not only greetings I bring. Many has come to my ear, troubles spoken out loud and all concerning your person, or so I heard... As your squire I seek the truth and stand ready to offer you my help... My Lord, would you be so kind as to inquire me of your apparent worries?\"

And so the voice fades away, the words spoken, the squire now makes his graceful bow. Eyes cast down, and head slightly bend, so does Rowaen, the white squire remain.

[Amano(#30032)]

A figure that seems by appearance and mien both not to belong to this chamber, youthful and rough-hewn where the very walls of the Tower seem smoothed by time, a tall squire steps within shortly after the Nimothan, grey eyes reflecting the fading sunlight in a muted gleam of silver. His voice, though deep, is quiet, as though he were unwilling to interrupt what peace that claimed this place, and his tone hesitant though the words clear enough.

\"My greetings as well, Sire, though it is as Rowaen says. I came to offer what little service I can, for the news that reached me was ill. \" He gazes out to the window, the skies beyond, and for a moment falls silent, as though seeking words in what the wind might whisper out upon the high towers of the castle. When he does speak again, it is firm, though a note of regret tinges his speech.

\"As a squire, I believe, milord.. I have been amiss in my duties to you. Twice now has your life been in danger, and I have not been of aid sufficient.\"

Thus the silence is shattered thus the ancient echoes flee, biding their time until they can come forth to speak to this one again -- this Prince of Men.

And the voices of the Squires do not turn the Son of Adrahil from the window from the endless seas burning with Arien\'s fire -- but he speaks to them: \"You think too poorly of yourself, Amano of the Isilrim. Both of you have aided me with deeds beyond your years.\"

And a pause then, ere he continues -- and his voice is akin to the dreaming waters of shadowy meres, where dark things lurk beneath the calm surface, \"And what have you heard of my troubles, Squires?\"

[Rowaen(#16595)]

\"My Lord... I heard to many to tell, stories changing with the second. \'Tis another reason why I went out in search of you... I seek the truth and reasoned it was to be found with you. No other could tell me better then the one the stories are about. And so I stand here before you, my Lord. My services are yours... Speak your wishes, and please let us try to relieve some of your... heavy burden..\" So speaks Rowaen, now opening his eyes, leaving the elegant pose he made before. A brief glance sideward ensures him of his friend\'s presence, his gratitude shown by a firm nod given to Amano. Yet swiftly the eyes of the squire move again, to halt upon the figure of Imrahil, still standing, unmoved.

[Amano(#30032)]

At the Prince\'s words the young Isilrim cannot but bow again, wordlessly, though the question voiced by the Lord of Dol Amroth finally seems to stir him to speak, slowly. \"Truly, Sire...it is as he says, though what rumours fly about the Court vary. \" Wry, slightly, is Amano\'s voice, as though he had in part forgotten how word was passed among the circles of the noble. Yet, graver than his tone might betray, his eyes focus on his Lord, belying troubled thoughts and a hint of worry. To his friend, he passes a fleeting glance, unreadable and swift.

\"Doubtless. But the truth is a thing far simpler.\"

And rising, the Prince strides to the great window -- before it he stands, tall and commanding, akin to a statue of the Sea-Kings of old, limned with gold.

\"My son has been taken by a wight undead Oathbreaker cursed long years ago for his betrayal.\"

[Rowaen(#16595)]

No words in reply leave Rowaen\'s lips as his Lord speaks. Though the expression on his face saddens greatly upon hearing the words spoken. For moments he stands only silent, no move nor word. A swift glance he casts at Amano, standing so near. As Rowaen rests his eyes again upon the figure of the Prince, a soft voice is heard. \"Then.. it is true.. A foul deed, one that will not remain unpunished. My Lord, tell us where this happened, and let us ride out as your servants and help finding this wight. It is the least we could do...\"

Doran has arrived.

\"For well nigh a dozen hours, my Knights have ridden in search of him -- but not with such ease will he be found. Dark sorcery wards him from our sight, and he is beyond the reach of Mortal Men. Thus...\"

The Prince pauses -- and none save him know what he sees in the fathomless depths of the Sundering Sea what token of ancient Doom foretold.

\"Thus, a company of doughty champions must go forth to seek that which will bring him down.\"

[Amano(#30032)]

Shock turns the tall Squire\'s ashen, though not with fear does his eyes flicker a strange light, as of dread unknown, glimmers there, his jaw tightening as what the rumours had hinted at solidified into a terrible truth. A long moment passes before his head lowers, as though the thought of such a dire deed had made somber his normally fiery mood. And as the Prince speaks again, he tilts his gaze up from the stone floor, a strange gleam flickering there as of some dread unknown.

\"Sorcery?\" the youth inquires, though no fear does he belie, only a strange, dark fascination. \"When these champions shall ride forth, Sire,\" he bursts out, impulsively, \"I beg leave to go as well, though not in proof of service or in regret for what failures I have had..but because the need is great. I wish to be of what help I can..\"

[Erchirion(#29344)]

The blazing sunset fills the skies for miles around on this day, the chill of approaching winter is found within the breezes that flows at times through the very window by which the Prince of Dol Amroth himself rests. The day rests quiet, and ominous silence that is only accentuated by the sounds of the sea.

Coming now, from a lower point within the tower itself, there come the echoes of steps, slow and sure, and growing in volume with each passing moment.

And after that time has passed, and into this place there comes the man, Erchirion, son of Imrahil, Guardian of the Tower. He enters quietly, passing before the squires, and coming to rest to the left of the Prince. The second son rest for a moment, eyes so akin to his fathers gazing out the window, \"Hail Father, and Prince,\" his words are spoken low, yet strong and sure.

[Rowaen(#16595)]

And as Erchirion enters, a quick glance is cast in his direction by Rowaen. Then the squire speaks as well in apparent reply to the Prince\'s words. Still the voice comes soft, perhaps even softer then before, a great contrast with the sudden outburst of his friend. \"And me, my Lord, I will go out and search as well, though I fear no champion am I, yet common sense is mine indeed. Perhaps it will not be enough for the dark sorcery at hand, still an attempt I will gladly make.\" As he ends, another bow is made, elegant and with grace.

\"Good day..\" is the quiet greeting from the squire, now turning a bit, as to look at Amano.

[Doran(#16967)]

Following at a respectful distance behind Erchirion is a young man, still cloaked and booted for journey upon horseback. Doran\'s long cloak of dark blue is stained with the mud of the road and is more than a bit tattered at its hem. The squire\'s grey eyes are rimmed with dark circles, as if the comfort of a simple bed has not been his for many hours. He stops, remaining silent, just above the stairs, looking on at this meeting between grieved father and son. Leather creaking beneath his tunic he casts a look at the other two squires, tilting his head in a subtle nod of greeting.

And now in the end, with the coming of his son and Doran, Imrahil the Fair turns from the window, raising a hand to the two Squires and his visage is revealed -- stern and grim, and with grey eyes troubled indeed.

\"Hail Erchirion. And you, Squire\" -- at the sight of his son, so alike to the one who has been taken, that clear gaze darkens, as if a shadow passes over him -- \"do you bring tidings of Amrothos?\"

[Amano(#30032)]

Amano sketches a bow, not swift or hesitant in its precision, to the Son of Imrahil, his murmured greeting quiet and somewhat lost as he straightens, his brow furrowed in doubt. Returning the other squire\'s nod with one of his own, what words he might have to say are stilled as the Prince speaks, and in the expectant silence that follows, he tilts his hawkish gaze at Doran, his tall form silent and unmoving.

[Erchirion(#29344)]

A moments glance is given the shadow filled face of Imrahil, the trouble look echoed there in, before the words of his son come forth, \"Nay Father,\" Erchirion says looking away, eyes resting on the scene beyond the boundaries of the window, \"There is nothing.\"

A sigh comes forth before the words come again, \"I\'m sorry Father, I will continue the search when I have rested some.\"

[Rowaen(#16595)]

Nothing but a slight nod of the head comes in return of Rowaen, to Doran. Rowaen as well now holds his silence, eyes glimmering with interest, caring for the answer given. Yet as it is spoken, the glimmer fades away, the eyes remaining, as it seems dark and somewhat hollow. And there the icy blue finds the coldness of the floor.

[Doran(#16967)]

\"I am so sorry as well, my lord\" Doran bows stiffly. \"But their is nothing more to tell,\" he sighs heavily with a slow shake of his head. \"The Hill of Erech now rests, as cold and quiet as the grave,\" the squire suddenly cuts off his own words, as if realizes what he has just said. His eyes fearfully wide he stutters, \"But.. but, I have not heard tell of the Lord Girithlin as of yet. Mayhap he shall return with tidings beyond hope.\"

\"Nay, he will not. And the search will avail little, Erchirion\" -- and there is a chilling certainty in that voice some echo of the fabled foresight of the Dunedain which speaks in it and glints in the Prince\'s eyes.

Over his Squires Imrahil\'s gaze sweeps then, valiant in the fire of their youth, Isilrim and Nimothan alike, \"It rests upon the quest now. They must find that which is sought, or Amrothos is lost. You have asked to ride with the company, all of you, and it was bravely done -- but it will be a journey fraught will peril, and whither it will lead, I may not say, for a darkness veils it from my sight. All of you have shed blood in my service, and I would not have any man unwilling do so again -- and so, I will ask you one last time.\"

\"Are you decided in this?\"

And by their answers will the Squires set down their Doom by their own hands.

[Erchirion(#29344)] Looking once more, to the gathered squires before he and his father, Erchirion says nothing, for he knows his lot in this coming quest. Silently, with his eyes resting for but a moment upon each of the Squires faces, as if judging them of their worth.

[Doran(#16967)]

\"I will follow thee, lord, and aid in the recovery of thy precious son, in any fashion that I may,\" Doran answers gravely. \"Wherever our road may lead, unto the ends of Middle-earth and strange shores of ancient realms, I shall go with thee.\"

[Rowaen(#16595)]

A deep sigh announces the words to come, the gaze, though stands determined and free of doubt. \"Worry not, my Lord, it is my duty to serve you and serve I will. I will ride with the quest and search for your lost son... And if needed... then more blood will I shed in your service. All in the line of good and what is right. So, in reply to your question, I say.. yes. Clearly have I decided and no regrets will I have...\" Another bow ends his words, Rowaen placing a hand before his chest, bending his head slightly. As he stands straight once more, his eyes turn and face Amano, intensively he awaits the answer of his friend...

[Amano(#30032)]

Though at the Prince\'s words the clear brow of the Isilrim furrows, troubled, neither fear nor hesitation fleets over his rigid face, as set as the stone of this tower, yet pale, as though the thought of what might come still held some note of dread. \"I am decided, Sire, and full well I know that words may not hold in full measure proof that I will hold steadfast. But the time will come in which I will see if in this decision I was wise. What may befall me, I know not, but it matters not as well at this hour. Only so long as the hope remains that your son may be found, I will go where this will lead me.\"

For a moment of eternity one in which time stands for naught, the Prince\'s gaze rests upon each Squire in turn -- keen and piercing, as if it lays bare the deepest intent of their hearts to his sight.

And perhaps it does.

For he nods then, \"So be it! You will ride with the company as you desire -- and I give you into the care of the Lord of the Isilrim. You will serve him upon this quest as you have served me in all things.\"

\"May Ulmo guide you upon the path you must tread\" -- and here in the sky-nestled summit of the soaring tower where the domain of the Lord of Waters stretches for endless leagues before the eyes of Men where the cries of the wheeling gulls is a distant echo of his great horns, such a blessing has great power indeed.

[Rowaen(#16595)]

\"If you will excuse me then, my Lord. I figure time is of the essence, so I will go and pack all that is needed... And serve the Lord of the Isilrim I will, as you bid... My Lord, I promise you here, I will do all in my might to find your son, confront the dangers on our way. A valiant and honourable squire I shall be, and aid the Lord of the Isilrim where I can.\" The words of Rowaen are spoken clear and steady, they are accompanied by another bow, yet this one is the final one he gives. For Rowaen turns and steps towards the stairs, ready to take his leaving and prepare himself for the quest at hand. \"If you require me no further, my Lord, then I will be on my way to prepare...\" So he stands, awaiting answer to his question.

[Doran(#16967)]

The gaze of Doran turns to his companions, cold and hard as the truesilver of great heirlooms, \"I do not think, lord,\" he speaks in a clear, calm voice. \"That you need worry for our care alone. If doom guides us all, then, if we be blessed through the thoughtful care of the Lord of Waters, our feet shall not falter. \'\'Twas not fate that robbed you of your son, I think. But the greater power shall rest with your emissaries, who shall go out with the good will of the Valar.\"

[Amano(#30032)]

As though a shadow had gone forth from him, and in the thought of the forthcoming quest and what they had to undertake now was at the forefront of his mind, Amano turns as well, his words seeming to reply to Doran though he seems to address them not to anyone, only musings spoken aloud. \"Let us hope that we will have no great need for intervention or miracles, friend, but with their blessing perhaps the darkness shall be swept away by light. I..\" He turns now to the Prince, bowing. \"I have faith that this quest shall succeed, though rash and foolish it may seem to tempt fate. Have ye any more need of me, sire?\"

\"May your words prove to be those of prophecy, my Squires.\"

And lastly, Imrahil comes to his son -- Erchirion of the Tower, proud and tall, elven-fair in the glory of his blood -- and clasps his shoulders. And to him, measured and slow, he says: \"My heart yearns to ride with you, but duty cares naught for sorrow...and so, I must stay behind and tend to this realm. In my stead, I send you.\"

For a moment longer they stand thus, father and son, Princes both -- and then, the Son of Adrahil turns away. Yet, he pauses to look one last time to his son, and his voice is quiet and low, \"Find that which is needed, Erchirion. Save your brother.\"

And then, he is gone to the window again, \"I would be alone now.\"