A Blood Oath

(Cordelia)

This is prime time, so to speak, in the Pony: A fine, clear April night with a new moon and all the promises that spring tempts with. As it is after the dinner hour in Bree, the place is packed: dim and smokey and filled with tables of men and hobbits and strangers, clustered, singing, talking, groping the nearby serving wenches when they can.

Helping out this evening in the Common Room, Cordelia is hurrying from table to table, taking orders for food, clearing dishes and mugs and bringing them back to the kitchen for washing. She wears an

apron over her dress, her black hair down her back but tied up in a kerchief, and long sleeves, deliberately pulled past her wrists.

(Ankh)

A tall figure, perhaps unusually tall for these parts, enters the Common Room. Casting back his hood, he smiles broadly at the merriment about him, and makes to find the nearest available seat. That is until his eyes fal upon Cordelia, hurrying about. The Servitor of the Eye, Ankh, smiles no more, but rather fixes his stone face on the rumored traitor. Yet he makes no gesture, as if trying to call her with his gaze.

(Cordelia)

It\'s several moments at least until Cordelia looks up--she\'s busy talking to a group of customers who can\'t seem to decide between beef stew and more ale and who seem more to want to flirt with her than anything else. Finally, rolling her eyes, she manages to free herself from them--starting to hurry out of the Common Room and toward the kitchen, apparently. She looks up because Ankh is in her

path--and stumbles.

(Ankh)

The Servitor\'s eyes follow Cordelia even as she approaches him, and when she comes close enough, Ankh reaches out with dexterous hands in an attempt to grab Cordelia\'s wrist.  He speaks quickly in the language of Nurnen, and though the language is rough and unkind, he speaks it softly in hopes that only she might hear him, \"We have much to speak of. I am your last friend.\"

(Cordelia)

The shiver that runs through Cordelia\'s spine at those quiet words could be felt all the way to her wrist, which Ankh has managed to grab. To the nearby customers it might seem that the man kept her from stumbling too badly, and Cordelia seems to work hard to keep her face and voice composed despite her reaction to Ankh. \"Of course we can talk,\" she answers him in the common tongue--not too loud, but not too soft, either. \"There is a parlour down the hall or table in the dark in the

corner.\" She gestures with her head toward that corner.

(Ankh)

\"Lead me,\" Ankh says, in the same tone, but in the common tongue, \"And I shall not falter a step behind.\"

His fingers slowly unclasp themselves from her arm. In contrast to Cordelia, the Servitor\'s composure is full and absolute. His tone is monotonous, slow and drawn out, \"We have much to speak of,\" he iterates, again in Westron.

(Cordelia)

The young woman pauses for a moment. Many people would see her talking to this stranger if she stays in the Common Room--but then many more would likely take note if she were to slip off with him. She

takes another quick look at Ankh, then starts to wend her way through the crowded room, leading him to a table in a very dark corner. \"I\'ll get your ale now, sir,\" she says, loud enough to be overheard. She gestures for Ankh to sit while she heads to the bar to fetch him ale.

(Ankh)

The Servitor winds after Cordelia, never more than a couple steps behind her. Usually one for the more theatric roles, Ankh does not reply in any way to Cordelia\'s promise of ale. He unfastens his cloak and folds it neatly over the back of the chair most obscured by the light. He stands behind this chair and watches her with his eyes, not daring to sit until she has returned.

(Cordelia)

Given the crowd in the Common Room and the speed at which Cordelia returns with a pint of ale, it\'s likely she slipped the barman a coin or two. The ale is set onto the table in front of Ankh, and then Cordelia takes a seat without being asked, her bench placed so her back is against the wall, unless Ankh stops her from doing so.

(Ankh)

Ankh makes no move to obstruct Cordelia, nor does he say anything as she sits. After she has, however, he lowers himself into the chair, and fixes his eyes onto the dark surface of the table.  For a moment, he pauses here in silence- or rather, silent against the background noise of the merrymakers that occupy the space around him. Then, in quick and harsh Logathig, \"My orders came from the highest authority, second only to the Master. And it was deemed that you should be killed,\" he says frankly, \"I said I am your last friend. I promise you that I am the only reason you are still alive. I alone argued for the chance to communicate with you before termination.\"

He looks up, right into her eyes, should they be available, and says in Westron, \"Did I choose wisely?\"

(Cordelia)

A shiver runs through Cordelia once more, hidden to any of those at the surrounding tables, but obvious enough to Ankh. Still the girl lifts her chin defiantly. Her eyes shift sideways to check who is close to them before she answers, low and in Logathig. \"You chose right. I don\'t know what lies Tamara put out about me, but she was a traitor. And sloppy. Liable to expose us all. I\'ve had to swear oaths of loyalty to filth to prove that I am not an agent of the Master. I am still undoing the damage that she did.\"

(Ankh)

Some noticable change comes over the Servitor. His shoulders loosen, and the look of stone seems to soften in his features just that little bit, \"I am happy to hear it...\" he says, and it might almost be sincere.

But under the table, his hands tell a different story. Unseen to all save the All-seeing, he puts the tip of a drawn dagger right against Cordelia\'s stomach. That same face hardens again, \"(Logathig) ...But I must be sure.\"

(Cordelia)

Cordelia sucks in her breath sharply, not even daring to breathe as the knife point sits hard against her stomach. \"I swear it by all that is holy,\" she whispers softly in Logathig, her voice tight with fear.

(Ankh)

Ankh smiles softly, \"Not enough,\" he says, in the language of Nurnen, \"You will swear before me unwavering faith to the Eye, on all that is holy, and the heads of your sisters.\"

\"And then you will put your right hand on this dagger and draw blood. For only blood makes an oath sacred,\" he presses the tip just a bit harder- as if to suggest the consequences of a failure to accept his terms.

(Cordelia)

\"The heads of my sisters,\" Cordelia repeats, and there is fear plainly written on her face. \"Then...they still live?\" She winces as the knife presses harder--knowing better than to try to squirm out of the way, though. And then very slowly, she puts her right hand under the table,

drawing one finger across the blade, her hand coming up bloody when she brings it back up above the table. \"I swear an oath of unwavering faith to the Eye, on all that is holy, and on the heads of my sisters. And I seal it with my blood.\" She uses Logathig, voice shaking.

(Ankh)

The Servitor nods in approval, \"I believe you,\" he says simply, \"And so I inform you that every single last sister still lives. But should you lose my belief...\"  He leaves it unsaid, and under the table, the knife-point comes away.

\"You shall be my apprentice,\" he says, plainly without asking, \"You will need my protection in the days to come. There are many that would see you dead- including the High Priestess,\" his face wrinkles, and he waves a hand, \"We shall speak of that later. What is the situation here? Are you ready to depart?\"

(Cordelia)

It\'s a lot of information to absorb at once, and at first Cordelia just stares at the Servitor, though she does noticeably breathe again. \"My sisters...\" she says first, back to the common tongue with what only sounds like relief. Then her gaze firms into something harder and she looks to Ankh, trying to meet his eyes. \"I won\'t lose your belief. But..what does that mean..your apprentice?\"

Her brows knit some at his further question, and she looks around the Common Room with open fondness. \"There is business here. The dwarves are leaving....\" she touches her right wrist, which is covered by her sleeve. \"But there is a man with Varadja tatoos on his face--I thought he was a Harad. He suspects...something. And he returns soon.\"

(Ankh)

\"The one with whom you killed Tamara,\" Ankh says, ignoring the first question for now, \"What are your intentions for this man?\"

(Cordelia)

\"Intentions? I wanted to find out who he is and why he was so interested in me.\" Cordelia frowns, and licks her lips in a puzzled way. \"He wasn\'t interested in relations with me. Though Tamara wanted me to seduce him. More, I think he sees me as a sister. Strange man.\"

(Ankh)

Ankh furrows his brow, \"I do not see how this serves the Master. Nor your interests. We must always avoid those who are interested in us unless they serve our purposes.\"

\"How do you intend to conclude your business?\" The Servitor asks, and there is more than a hint of annoyance in his Logathig.

(Cordelia)

\"Business...\" Cordelia\'s frown deepens with the annoyance in Ankh\'s tone. \"It depends on what you are asking me to achieve here. \"Become a part of the community, learn valuable information and spread fear? That takes time. I\'ve done more than my share. The dwarves, for one, will be taking tainted flour with them as they leave. I consider it a present for the whipping and branding that Tamara\'s work earned me from the dwarves. As for this tatooed man...there are two alternatives. Slip away now before he returns, and likely confirm his suspicions about me. Or a poisoned knife in the dark when he returns, but the man is wary and likely hard to kill. I serve you, though. You should rightly choose my path.\"

(Ankh)

\"We will stay- for now. You will not see us for a time, but I will be watching you. Very carefully. I will visit you periodically, and teach you greater skills with the dagger When the time comes, we will strike,\" The Servitor says, \"You had best get back to your affairs.\"

(Cordelia)

\"Sir,\" Cordelia says, inclining her head just slightly out of respect born of fear. \"I will,\" she says, starting to get up--but then she hesitates. \"The tatooed man--he will need to think I am on his side. He doesn\'t know who I serve, but he made me swear not to serve Tamara\'s \'people.\' If I don\'t convince him that I uphold my oath, then our actions here will be for nothing.\"