(Archives) Torelin\'s Oath

 Elendor - Saturday, February 21, 1998, 12:39 AM

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Torelin - The young man before you, Torelin, seems illsuited to his name. Though he is quite a large man his posture and demeanor do not present him as anything but uncomfortable with himself and his surroundings. His face, although ruggedly handsome, is marred by an expression of indignity and his eyes show a ferocity that never seems to leave. His straw coloured hair is neat but not so much that he could be considered fastidious. In accordance with this, Torelin\'s clothes are made up of a simple tunic and pants, the former a pale cream colour and the latter dark brown. His black boots are old and in need of repair but seem to suit his drab outfit. Surrounding his frame rests a plain black cloak much in the same state as his boots but the holes are superficial and it seems to be appropriate enough for most weather. The only colour that is apparent is in the form of a medallion hanging from a leather strap around his neck its shape is of a small, yellow star surrounded by two waning moons in red that join at their tips.

Malahir - Immediately, you are captured by the honest brown eyes of a young man, who is scantly an adult. There is inner solace in his eyes, which almond shape and youthful glint, show to the viewer his true emotion. Framing his amiable round face are wild brown curls that extend down to his broad shoulders. His smooth face is clean shaven, but not by choice. His leather tanned skin displays the strength he bears in his arms. On his left forearm is a nasty scar, and if he is not wearing his armor, another long scare can be seen on his right shoulder. His impressive stature measures six feet, one inch and he weighs in excess of 210 lbs. Although he has a well toned muscularture and broad frame, he sports a slightly convex belly and buttox.

He appears to blend in with a moonless night. He wears a black tabard emblazened with the city crest of Minas Tirith: the white tree and seven stars, in silver embroidary. He is robed in a long black satin cloak. On the left lapel is a silver brooch of a ship, and on the right part of the cloak, above his heart is a crest of white and blue, with a sword and horse. Loose black pants are tucked into black boots and a broad black leather belt slims down the tabard at the waist. A silver buckle, also with the etching of a ship, hangs dead center. His black helm is winged at the crown with long cheeck guards, close fitting to the face. Lazily, his sheath hangs below his waist, wherethe gold pommel of his sword sticks out from his cloak by his hip. Occasionally, he brandishes an antique wooden cane, the handle being carved into a falcon\'s head. But while on duty, he grips a small leather buckler that proudly displays the crest of blue and white, a sword and horse. Adding to his massy bulk are the leather studded body piece. His arms an armor show little wear, in fact his sword his well polished, and the gold gleams from a half hidden sheath. However, you may see that his armor is resewned by hand at the right shoulder.

Analdin -With his relitively short, boyishly cut blond hair, a twinkle in his eyes, and an entire six feet, this young man seems to almost blend into any group of boys that could be playing in the street. However, upon closer inspection, the glacier cool look behind those ocean-deep blue eyes and the straight posture show him to be no child, but a man of some responsibility. An air of strength, mental as well as physical, shines about him. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and hard from work, and his muscles are far more than slight.

The uniform of the Minas Tirith Guard seems to go quite well with his features, giving him a more mature look than most might see at first. Even the dress uniform he wears at this time gives him an even more distinguised look. The black talbard with the emblem of Minas Tirith upon it, the Stars and the Tree, the dark trousers tucked into black, polished-to-a-shine boots, all of it adds to the feeling of responsibility about him. Upon his shoulder can be seen company insignia, the Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith. Bars of rank also adorn his uniform, Lieutenant\'s bars, and company commander\'s. A well cared for longsword hangs from his side at most times, and a shining helm with raven\'s wings sweeping back oftimes covers his head. All his silver is well-polished, and the normal chain mail he wears is shining like anything, even under the cloudy sky.

His posture is that of a trained soldier, though rather friendly for it. Even though black is the dominant color in his clothing, his light, almost Rohirric features give him no appearance of darkness. An air of purpose surrounds him like a light mist.

Entering the tent, Torelin shows to be in much better health than a few hours ago. He studies the people around him and seems unsure of who to talk to. He looks at Malahir and nods, remembering him from the stands.

Analdin sits quietly in the back corner of the Minas Tirith Pavillion, his eyes half-shut as he leans back in a wooden chair tipped up on two legs like a bored school-boy playing with his chair. No sound comes from the still figure, though every now and again the sword at his side will clank against the chair. A soft breeze blows through the pavillion, which is mostly empty by this hour, leaving the young man alone at the back.

Malahir stands at the entrance of the famed Minas Tirith tent, watching with a hawk like glance at the crowds outside, little children attempting to sneak a peek inside. He registers the man who just entered a familiar half smile, but goes about his guard duty

+os :ohs, and sorries to sound impatient or anything, Ozy.. I\'m sorta tired. :)

Torelin makes a small cough, as though he is trying to fight his feeling of otherness in the Minas Tirith Pavilion. He tries to sit quietly but his chair makes a small squeak as his large frame rests on the unwilling seat. \"I did not ask you, \" he looks at Malahir, \"who you faired today.\"

At the sound of a voice in the pavillion, Analdin\'s eyes open, if ever so slightly. Slits of blue shine in the small light of a candle as his eyes open a bit more, watching the two near the opening. He coughs softly, his eyes remaining open, but more concentrated.

The sound of his commander stirring sets the grumpy guard in motion. He turns about on the man that he met in the stands briefly, \"Who I am is not a nearly important as who you are about to meet. It is my understanding that you have audience with the lieutentant?\"

Turning more fully to Malahir, Torelin grimmaces. \"That is what Captain Boromir said. I was quite injured at the time but I recall an...Analdin?\" He takes off his cloak and places it on his lap.

An eyebrow rises fractionally, yet the lieutenant remains quietly half-asleep in the back of the pavillion, with only a candle flickering on the mail, helmet, and sword at his side giveing any appearance of movement to that part of the silent tent.

Malahir moves to offer his hand for the man\'s cloak. He wants patiently, adding, \"Yes sir, Lieutenant Analdin will see you in a moment. But first, shall you relax after your hard fight in the footlist?\"

Torelin huffs and remains seated. \"I do not relax much. Is there nothing else to do here? If only I had advanced further in the field I wouldn\'t have to be stuck here. I would be celebrating with the other soldiers.\" He settles back in his chair and closes his eyes.

Analdin\'s eyebrow rises a tad more, and his eyes open a bit wider, though not to the point that he would be considered fully \"awake\". He coughs once more, and gropes over to the right, to a table, hand reaching for an almost-unreachable glass of.. something. Setting his chair upright, he keeps his eyes on the door, and takes a sip of the apple-smelling liquid.

Malahir speaks in hushed tones, \"If you may sir, please keep your voice down\". A scant perturbed at the man\'s insolance, he stands back up and crosses his arms over his chest. \"You got further than I. Does that not make a cause for celebration. The injuries I have sustained seem to have condemned me to lose. So if you ask me, maybe you shouldn\'t say such things\"

Torelin opens his eyes and looks hard at Malahir. For a brief moment he looks upset but that dissolves into a noncommital gaze. He turns away and fidgets with his cloak. \"I only speak what I feel.\"

Standing up, though somewhat unsteadily, Analdin makes his way, drink in hand, to the doorway. Halfway there, however, he stops suddenly and puts a hand out to one of the poles supporting the pavillion. Sloshing his drink a good bit, getting much of it on the floor but none on himself, he brings his right hand up to his left hsoulder with a hard wince of pain yet a very embaressed look entering his silent face.

Malahir taps his feet and bows uncomfortably, \"Excuse me sir. I do apoligize. I saw that Captain Boromir requested you, so you must be worthy of the guard. I will expidite your audience with the commander of the company of Silver Ship. Excuse me once more, and I will check on him for you.\"

Torelin ignores Malahir\'s words as he stands to offer a hand to Analdin. \"Perhaps you should get a healer for your fellow soldier.\" He motions to Analdin to take his arm and have a seat.

Analdin, righting himself after a moment, holds up a hand to Torelin, shaking his head, \"Thankee, lad,\" he says quietly. Even though the tone of his light voice is quiet, there is something compelling behind it, and behind his bright, deep blue eyes. Making his way slowly to the chair, he lowers himself into it, though somewhat gingerly, \"But I shall be fine. Ne need to trouble the healers they have more important buisness to take care of.\"

Malahir watches with trepidation the action of the man from the tournament. However, with a nod to Analdin, he bows away from the two, \"Shall I make this a private matter Lieutenant?\"

With a loud \"bah\" Torelin again sits. \"Guards. Ha! Always so strong and proud.\" A fierceness enters his eyes. \"You always show such bravery when perhaps you should accept that you are not as strong as you sometimes appear.\" He then realizes Malahir\'s words. He eyes turn downwards to the ground and he clenches his cloak until his knuckles turn bright white.

Analdin shakes his head, giving Malahir a soft smile, \"Not if you wish to stay, Malahir. From speaking with the Captain-General, and various other sources,\" he takes a deep breath here, gingrly touching his shoulder again with his sword-hand, \"this should be nothing of private matter to this meeting.\" Though, as Torelin bursts out, Analdin\'s eyes narrow at the youth for a moment... then he smiles to the lad, more with his eyes than his face, \"\'Tis not that we believe ourselves invincible or stronger than we are... Torelin,\" he says the name easily, as though he already knows the young man, \"but we do know that there are others that need attention worse than ourselves. Politeness, my young friend, can get you very far.\"

Malahir eyes remain transfixed on his superior, though his face grows more flushed from the fever burning inside. He wipes beads of sweat from his forhead. By starring into the young man\'s eyes, one can see the mysterious pain that lies behind them. After Analdin speaks, he then adds, \"May I sit down sir?\"

Moving uncomfortablly in the small chair, Torelin looks grimly at Analdin. \"Politeness, Lieutenant, made my father into a fool. He died from it. I don\'t intend to let that happen to me. He never called for a healer either.\" He again turns and addresses the ground with his last sentence.

Analdin waves Malahir into a nearby chair, \"Of course, Malahir, by all means.\" he says quietly to his aide, keeping his cool eyes on the younger man before him. Looking into Torelin\'s eyes, he tries to hold the lad\'s gaze, but doesn\'t quite manage before he looks down, though the Lieutenant continues looking hard at the top of Torelin\'s head when he does. \"Didn\'t call for a healer? But was he more injured than simple play with blunt weapons, I would assume? I could give you no reason for your father, or what he may have done to ruin the Guard\'s reputation in your eyes...\" he trails off into silence.

Malahir pulls a stray chair by his commander and takes it gingerly, resting his sore, albeit muscular frame.

Torelin again glances at Analdin. He seems to be trying to assess whether the Lieutenent is a friend or foe. \"My father was a great soldier.\" He tightens his lips and moves his hand on his bandaged arm. \"I do not wish to talk about him. I want to fight to be great like he was.\"

Analdin raises an eyebrow, looking quietly at Torelin. His face is calm, such calm as is hardly ever seen in a soldier, though hints of tiredness show in his eyes. \"You say he was great but yet a fool? I have hardly heard of a fool that turned to greatness...\" he shakes his head slowly, causing a few stray strands of light hair to fall into his eyes. Sweeping them out of the way, he continues, \"What would you be willing to do to fight like your father, then?\"

Avoiding the question, Torelin turns to Malahir. \"Do you not want to be a great soldier? Is that not why you joined the guard?\"

Malahir leans forward, listening intently, but rather not looking directly at the young man named Torelin. He hides a smile at the sudden questioning. \"I want to serve in the best possible capacity to Lord Denthor and my home. But the reasons why people are condemned to do one thing over another are hardly ever simple matters Torelin.\"

Analdin turns to Malahir, eyes bright with curiousity towards his answer. As it is given, Analdin moves his head back to face Torelin once more, the smile having disapeared from his face, but not his eyes. \"Never simple,\" he echoes quietly to himself, leaning back in his chair. \"I ask again, my young friend Torelin, what would you be willing to do to fight?\"

Unsatisfied with Malahir\'s answer, Torelin offers to both, \"But do you not wish to win in battle? To feel the energy of charging onto the field.\" His voice trails off, \"I would do anything to have that glory.\"

Malahir sits back in his chair now, seemingly unattached now. All he has to offer the man directly is an apathetic shaking of his head. With lethargy he adds off hand, \"it\'s a bitter cold world, and you ask if there is warmth in embracing it with hungry arms?\"

\"Winning a battle? Charging onto the field? Certainly those have their excitement, your blood rushes through you like the Anduin, you think clearly and fight your best, and win a victory. But think about this, Torelin,\" Analdin\'s eyes are sparkling like sapphires under the sun now, or the tossed waters of the sea when the wind calms enough to see them shine. \"Think about who actually wins those battles? Certainly you, physically... you may slay the orc, you may see the blood rushing onto the field. But what is the higher gain of those battles? Think about it, my friend. Tell me who actually wins.\"

Leaning forward Torelin looks again at the ground. His voice is quiet like a child\'s that has just been rebuked for an untoward behaviour. \"Well, Gondor does of course.\" He digs at the grass with the back of his heel. \"My father used to tell me that all the time. \'I serve Gondor, I serve you, my son. I am keeping you alive.\'\" Taking a big cut into the grass he says, \"I understand what he meant but I don\'t know if I believe him.\"

Shaking his head once more, while he swipes his sweat laden forehead with the back of his hand. He then loosens the silver brooch that pins his black satin cloak tight around his neck. The brooch gleams from the lamp lit glow and begs for the attention of an eye to gaze upon it. Like a fidgity child waiting for his mother to take him home from school, Malahir plays with it, no longer paying much attention.

Analdin watches the grass in silence as Torelin gives his reply, constantly sutting into the ground with his foot like a nervous boy in the school-master\'s office. Though, when the younger man trails off, Analdin says, his voice remaining quiet though a strength has entered it, \"Don\'t believe him? Did you ever hear his oath? Any man who takes the oath of the Minas Tirith Guard remembers it.. and lives by it. Did he ever tell you? \'Tis not an easy thing, to give your life while yet living to the service of your country and protecting others. Have you any idea what sort of man it would take - does take - to fulfill that which they promise?\" He casts Malahir a glance, and raises an eyebrow, though turns back to the youth in front of him.

Torelin shakes his head slowly. \"He never told me the oath--my mother forbade it.\" Turning then to Analdin, his voice obviously resigned to the fact that Analdin was far harder to annoy and gave him no chance to call him \'foe\', Torelin asks quietly, \"Why would Boromir ask me to join? I want to but I don\'t know if want to give up my life for Gondor. What if I fail?\"

Analdin gives Torelin a gentle smile, and, reaching out with his right hand, places it on the young man\'s shoulder. Though a touch of suprise hit his face at the mention of a mother\'s forbidding to read the oath, or perhaps the mention of the Captain-General in such familiar terms, he quickly hides it. \"Lord Boromir does not lightly tell young men they are suited for a position in the Guard, Torelin. And there is no such thing as failure, at least,\" he adds, his smile brightening proudly, \"not in the Guard I know, let alone my company. Would you like to hear the oath, my young friend?\"

At the lieutenant\'s mentioning of failure, Malahir shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Torelin turns around to face Analdin. \"Then you will let me join?\" The question came out with a more surprising tone than Torelin would have liked. He immediately looks away and stands to hide his discomfort.

\"Time can only tell, Torelin,\" Analdin says at the young man\'s suprise with a half-smile, \"whether or not I am making the right decision. But... yes, I would, should that be your desire.\" He pauses, lapsing into a moment\'s silence to allow Torelin to answer.

Torelin regains his composure as he turns back to face Analdin. \"I will. It will make my uncle pleased at least.\" He looks to Analdin again and is obviously unsure of how he should proceed.

The sun rises slowly over the Ephel Duath, casting her glorious light over the green fields of fair Lebennin.

Malahir watches with bitter discomfort. His unpleasant eye seeks out the lieutenant, but he is unwilling to break the solomn message given in the oath. Quitly, he holds his tongue and awaits Analdin\'s statement of Torelin\'s initiation.

The smile in Analdin\'s eyes widens, and he says quietly, \"Would you fetch my sword, please?\" he nods over to the chair he had been inhabiting, \"I would do it myself, but don\'t trust my stremgth quite yet. And bring it back here, in its scabard.\" Leaning back, the lieutenant looks intently at Torelain, awaiting his reaction. In doing so, he looks to Malahir, and his eyes narrow questioningly, \"Is something wrong, Malahir?\" he asks quietly.

As the young recruitee leaves to fetch the described sword, Malahir makes a quick plea in hushed tones, \"Sir, he will be tough to discipline. But I trust your judgement, and above all, Captain Boromir\'s\"

Torelin slowly walks over to where Analdin\'s sword leans. He takes it carefully and brings it over to the Lieutenant. He makes a harsh, stabbing glance at Malahir while he returns to stand infront of Analdin.

Analdin allows a feint sigh to escape his lips, and shakes his head, \"Aye,\" he replies, lowering his voice also, \"If nothing else. But I have a feeling that he can ammount to more, given a chance - and \'tis not lightly that the Captain-General gives his judgement.\" Having finished right before Torelin returns, he smiles at Malahir, a soft, knowing smile, then turns back to the younth. \"Thank you, Torelin.\" he says quietly, drawing the gleaming silver from its sheath with ease after laying it on his lap. The whisper of metal on metal touches the still air, and the shining silver of the sword gleams in the dim light. Analdin holds the sword, blade flat in his hands, and syas in a solemn tone, \"Torelin, if you wish to make this commitment, place your sword hand in the air and your other on this blade, and repeat my words.\"

Torelin does as he is instructed and takes a deep breath. He glances at Malahir and then returns his attention to the sword in front of him.

Malahir nods, squinting as to make newly made wrinkles in his lack luster brown eyes. He sits back and watches the ceremony reverently

voice solemn and steady, syas in a voice that almost echoes through the quiet pavillion,

Analdin, voice solemn and steady, syas in a voice that almost echoes through the quiet pavillion, \"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the Lord and Steward of the realm. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be..\" he trails off, allowing Torelin to catch up.

Though his words come out slowly and thick, Torelin speaks audibly and as he proceeds his words become more steady. \"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor and to the Lord and Steward of the realm. To speak and to be silent, to do and to let be.\" He pauses to wait for his cue.

It appears as if Malahir is mouthing the words silently, reverently bowing his head as he does so.

Analdin nods calmly, continuing slowly and distinctly, \"To come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying...\" The sword in his hands glints from the candle-light, as though it was hearing and saying these words as well.

Torelin seems to have forgotten his former nervousness and begins to speak loudly and with a hint of determination in his voice. \"To come and to go, in need or in plenty, in time of peace or war, in living or dying.\" On the word dying the word is audibly muted.

With a tone of finality, the lieutenant finishes the oath, his soft and quiet voice rising into pride, the look upon his face one of calm knowing. \"From this hour henceforth until my Lord release me or death take me or the world end. So say I, , son of , of .\"

Torelin again follows his cue. \"From this hour henceforth,\" he says quietly now, \"until my Lord release me or death take me or the world end. So say I, Torelin, son of Brinmaen, of Minas Tirith.\" He looks expectantly at Analdin as he ends his oath.

Placing his own right hand on the sword\'s hilt, his other in the air, a far-away look enters Analdin\'s eyes as he says, his tone of near-silence returning, \"And this do I hear, Analdin, son of Analdin, Lieutenant of the Company of the Silver Ship of the Minas Tirith Guard, a servant and represenative of the Lord Steward, Denethor. We shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oathbreaking with vengance.\"

Torelin keeps his hand on the sword and seems to be lost in thought.

Analdin, with a smile, gently eases Torelin\'s hand off the sword and resheathes it, the destinct metallic whisper waking him from his own reverie. \"Welcome to the Minas Tirith Guard, young Torelin. And, especially, to the Company of the Silver Ship. Remember these words you have spoken this morning, and never forget that which you have sworn to do.\"

Malahir stands up and offers his new comrade a handshake and puts on a very familiar half smile

Torelin makes no reply to Analdin but turns, quickly shakes Malahir\'s hand and walks away from the two. Under his breath the words, \'I\'m sorry Mother\' can be heard. He turns again and his voice is shaky, \"What do I do now? Do I move into the barracks?\"

Analdin begins to stand but, after a moment, lowers himself back into the chair, hand on his side. \"Report tommorow morning to either myself or Malahir. And you can move into the barracks as soon as possible, if you are returning to Minas Tirith now... but I would rather you remained here, at least for the rest of the faire, should your uncle not mind.\"

Torelin nods quickly and replies, \"I will remain here.\" He pauses and adds quickly, \"sir.\" With that he leaves the tent, putting on his cloak as he leaves.

Analdin shrugs as Torelin teaves quickly, and leans back in the chair, half-closing his eyes.