Prince Imrahil\'s Advice

Dol Amroth: Prince\'s Castle - Throne Room

A cavernous room of icy marble yawns about you. The ceiling seems impossibly high--though the chamber\'s width is not exceptional--supported at regular lengths by thin spindles of smooth, undecorated stone. Indeed, the only color in the room itself is a slash of porphyry that runs arrow-straight westward to a set of steps that radiate outward from a tall dais, upon which rests the Marble Throne itself.

Light floods the Throne Room from a bank of massive windows set into the western wall. The central of these directly behind the throne is easily thrice the height of a man and four times his width and grants a vision of fog-shrouded cliffs leading down to the vastness of the Belegaer, with the distant finger of Tirith Aear thrusting up before it some distance to the west. Flanking the central window are thin ribbons of glass, all in pointed stone arches of their own that descend, each on a level with one of the steps of the dais, so that the central window and its point stand highest. Seemingly the only concession to real ornamentation in this room comes in the form of ornately carved stars placed at the top of each of the windows\' arches--seven stars in all, for the ancient house of Elendil the tall.

Here\'s Imrahil\'s desc for today - Tall and lordly is this man, a figure of stern command and regal presence, strong of limb and fair of countenance. Raven hair shorn about his shoulders, and a white gem, bright and star-like, bound upon his brow by a silver circlet -- here is one in whom the blood of Numenor runs true, mingled even with that of the Elder Kindred. And there lingers about him -- in his bearing, proud and noble, and in his grey eyes, keen and bright with a calm wisdom -- the whispering breath of ancient glory that of the Sea Kings of a fallen age.

Rich and worked with cunning details is his raiment. Save for the silken tunic he wears, of the purest alabaster and with a high collar trimmed in intricate threads of silver, all else is dark as night\'s veil -- breeches, high boots, and a great cloak trimmed with argent and clasped at the throat with a brooch of true-silver cast in the likeness of a swan. Golden and fair is the belt girt at his waist, and at his side he bears a mithril-hilted sword in a jeweled scabbard.\"

The morning fast broke but an hour ago and the castle of Imrazor has quickly breathed to life with vigor and purpose, as it has every day since the return of its Prince. Things have returned to much as they were in the years before Imrahil\'s disappearance but changes are apparent, old faces missing and a abundance of new ones, fresh and green.

The Prince bears it all evenly, his brow relaxed, his eyes bright and kind and his voice strong - \"They need plows and oxen to pull them. And we need their harvest, regardless of the cost. We will find the coin needed for it, as we do for all things we must and come spring we will honor our part of the bargain.\"

The Throne Room is not unlike the rest of the castle. Within its vast walls are attendants and advisors, both of the Prince\'s Order and of those bent towards civil affairs. There is little pomp to the proceedings, and there is talk all around the room, of business, of the Kingdom, and of the fief.

\"Now,\" he says to one of his attendants, \"Was it not that Sir Caronnen had come to speak to me on some matter?\" Then to those within the hall, \"Is he here now? If not, call him, and we shall speak for a time, as he needs.\"

The attendant stands with a straight-backed youthfulness. He responds to the command of his Prince with these words: \"Yes, my Lord. Upon the matter of Caldur. But I do not see him amongst those gathered. Shall I seek him out?\"

A young man, marked by his blue tabard and the darker hue of his skin, enters, walks through one of the marble doors, then holds it ajar for those behind him.

Whether by coincidence or cue, this party\'s arrival is timely. Following in the young man\'s wake is Caronnen Girithlin, with keen eyes upon those at the forefront of the hall and a proud, if pensive smile.

\"My Lord,\" he intones beneath the bow of his head, once the distance to the Prince\'s nearer audience is closed. \"I am here, with thanks for your granted audience. I bring with me the younger of my children, Lominzil and Farielle.\" Here his attentions seek back over his shoulder until they see fit to join him.

Farielle is a little behind her father she has waited a step or two for Lominzil to catch up with her, but now hastens forward as her father speaks. She curtsies to the Prince, and then stands quietly a half-step behind Caronnen. The deep burgundy wool of her dress is trimmed with gold, and she wears a shawl as well. And she is clearly nervous about something.

Last of all comes Caronnen\'s son, walking into the Prince\'s presence with respectful, measured steps too measured, perhaps, and he is pensively silent, and remains thus lest called upon.

The Prince\'s face falls for a breath at the mention of Caldur, but his eyes turn to the door and he rises, a smile and a gesture towards the throne, \"Sir Caronnen, ever you are welcome in this hall.\"

\"I have heard of the plight of your family. Trials and tribulations have found many homes in Belfalas in these many past months, but though their stay in yours was overly long, my heart is lifted to know you can call your children before me, alive and whole, despite the troubles of the past.\" His eyes go first to the Squire, and for him he says naught, but a knowing smile and a simple nod to the young man. For his sister, a deeper bow of the Prince\'s head, \"Lady Farielle. Surely, the flower of your father\'s heart. I am pleased to finally have met you.\"

Finally, he addresses the old knight once more, \"And you, my friend, what would you have us speak on?\"

The attendant bows and disappears into the surroundings.

\"My Lord\'s happiness is also mine, in this and many cases,\" comes the Girithlin lord\'s answer readily. \"These have been trying months for many, indeed.\" Remembered weariness frays the edges of his baritone even now, in spite of his smile, and lines his blue-grey eyes as do his sixty-two years. In these moments, his silence speaks loudly.

Clearing his throat then, Caronnen straightens. \"But if you would grant me a few moments to speak of my own family\'s trials before others... I would speak openly about what has befallen my daughter. And once it is spoken, I would have your wisdom, as you see fit to offer it.\"

Farielle blushes a little, her pale, anxious face staining a faint rose color. \"Thank you, my Lord,\" she murmurs. Her eyes go then to her father as Caronnen speaks, before returning to the Prince.

Imrahil takes to his throne, motioning for more, \"Then spare no time and speak and I shall listen and grant what wisdom I may possess to you and your daughter\'s trial.\"

\"You have no doubt heard that Farielle was taken from us, and returned not long before we sought Minas Tirith, through no small trial of Lominzil\'s.\" This much Caronnen Girithlin speaks readily, with a silent glance back to his youngest son, but the words that follow suffer a barely audible hesitance.

\"She has suffered hardships that no words can undo, for all the love of fealty and family, but has since come far under her own strength. What troubles us, my lord - \"

Though pride remains in the set of shoulders that have seen battle and burden over the course of his lifetime, Caronnen\'s voice quiets unmistakably. \"...Is that which I cannot under my own power restore to her. My only daughter was... wed, during her captivity. Against her will, at the judgement of the very Haradrim man who stole her from the shores at Caldur.\" There is more to say, but for the moment it waits upon a sigh before he continues.

Farielle makes a small motion, then is still again her shoulders tense at this recitation.

\"Even greater the trial she has overcome, and yet,\" now the Prince seems wary, his eyes narrowing some, \"Greater a cause for interest in the story of Lady Farielle, for the men of Umbar do not give up their brides easily and a bride of Gondor is a prize indeed to such men that rule that once great city.\"

\"Tell me more.\"

The set of Caronnen\'s jaw too has hardened to stone upon the retelling, though at Farielle\'s subtle movement beside him, he brings a hand again to her shoulder fleetingly.

\"I cannot deign to know how we have come upon the fortune of her return, aside from my son\'s part in the tale. And that, perhaps, he may tell another time. But the man to whom she was married has been called, himself and by this Haradrim lord, a man of Gondor. Whatever honor he holds in such a sense can be vouched for as far his word, as it was given to my daughter - that she would not be touched, or harmed. And that she would be brought home.\"

He draws another breath, and subjectivity softens his voice further. \"My dearest Farielle has held her word to this man as well, for what little else he has done for her after the fashion of a husband. It is I who ask you this, not her - my lord, can ought be done to see this union unmade? It is... not after our custom, but by the customs of our enemies.\"

Lominzil\'s chin rises imperiously, defiant in the face of this statement of his sister\'s marriage, finally made un-secret.

Farielle flinches ever so slightly, looking around to see who is listening - hoping, no doubt, that they are far enough away to not hear the whole tale. Then she lifts her head a little in what of pride she yet can muster.

Imrahil is quick to answer, \"An oath given by the tip of the sword is naught and no fault can be found in your daughter for agreeing to it or, indeed, ignoring it as it suits her. But,\" he looks to Farielle, \"Is that all to the tale? A marriage and fair passage back to your home? Unhindered and unharmed? Gondorian or no, those who serve Umbar have a price for aught.\"

Caronnen half-turns to regard Farielle, and in this moment, he is a father with concern for his daughter above any title. He nods to her in subtle encouragement, remaining silent to allow her voice.

\"My lord,\" Farielle answers, \"The man who made this marriage says he is rightful king of Gondor by birth. My - husband believes this to be true. He did not wish to be wed to me no more than I to him, and told me he would bring me home to my parents but he feared his lord\'s wrath should he refuse what was done. I ... \" She clasps her hands tightly together and takes a breath to steady her voice. \"My lord, I promised I would not seek to set aside my marriage. Papa wished to come to you, and seek your counsel and help, but I cannot feel it is right.\"

She lifts her eyes to the Prince\'s face. \"It is true, all that he says. The marriage could easily be undone - I would gladly acquiesce - if I had not given my word. How can I promise, and then as soon as I have gained my desire, set aside my sworn word?\"

Now the Prince leans back, his hand coming up, fingers brushing the edge of his chin. \"First, I would ask if this man of Gondorian blood has a name? Let us not shy from the villain with soft words but face him aloud in our speeches as we would upon the field.\"

A pause and breath, then he continues, \"But I need to not to offer some thoughts for you, Lady Farielle. Consider first, that in this, I shall not pass any law or make any ruling for the union was not made under the law of Gondor nor under any law that Gondor hears as law. For now, your decision is your own, with the council of myself and your family.\"

\"Let us not consider the events of your past, but those of another. If I took a man unjustly from his home by force and brought him to my dungeons. There I forced him by what means a man can force another to his will to bind himself by his oath to, say, my son. The same that helped in me gaining the prisoner\'s oath, with pain and blood. Would you say Lady, that oath had no weight?\"

\"His name is Alkhaszor,\" Farielle answers. \"Though I think that is not the name he was given at birth...\" She frowns a little in thought, then shakes her head. \"No, I am sure it is not. Someone began to call him by another name once, but I never heard what it was. The Lady Eruphel told me he is a Bragollach. That is all I know of him, save that he was married before and his wife is dead, and he has a child of about four years of age.\"

She listens with painful intentness, then shakes her head. \"No, my lord, it would have no weight. Nor do I count myself bound by the rites of the marriage. I did not consent, nor my father, and I do not admit that Lord Alphros has any right of law over me. It is the promise I gave to Alkhaszor later that troubles me. He did not compel me. Indeed, he put himself in some danger to bring me home.\"

A nod, \"Then let us look to the other I spoke of. With an unknown intent, my son, dark in his heart as it is known, then offered that prisoner the freedom that he took unjustly from him, and only asked the man hold his oath, else he would lie for the rest of his days in the son\'s prison, a slave. Would that oath hold weight? Can a man give a false word to escape evil? To avoid what terrors evil may beset upon you? It is any different than the sword pointed at your breast? Certainly, it is a more subtle thing.\"

Lominzil exchanges a mute glance with his father, then bows his head humbly, only listening.

\"I don\'t know,\" Farielle whispers. \"Should not one hold one\'s oaths above all else? Is it - is it not cowardice, to lie to escape a thing you fear?\"

Imrahil holds his hand to still her doubts and her tongue, \"But, you have spent some time with this man and you say he put himself at some risk. If my son had a heart that was true and good, but was surrounded by such evil as myself, my family and all others around him and played to their tune only to have what influence he can to make good in his world of darkness. And you holding to your oath keeps him able to do so, thus the oath is requested and asked in truth and as equals. Perhaps that is a different thing?\"

\"You say that an oath should be held above all else, but that the oath you gave in marriage is false and null. There is a contradiction there and it is not uncommon. Many tales have I heard of men praising the kindness of their captors, of their torturers. How they offered them extra bread to their meager rations. When they behaved took pity on them and gave them only half their lashes for the day. How they offered to let them return home, if only they would find favor in them later,\" with this his eyes tighten, his countenance growing grim.

\"Again, I fear only you have the knowledge to judge the hearts of the men you met and to what weight the words you have given them. Since you are here, to find direction because you are conflicted, I deem you already know your decision but find it too terrible to believe it is what you have decided. So, if you have not yet heard it, I will leave you with the tale of the scorpion and the fox.\"

He does not wait and begins at once to recite the tale, his manner softening into that of a story teller and not the Prince. Or perhaps a father, reciting to his children.

----

One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.

The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn\'t see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.

Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.

\"Good day, Master Frog!\" called the scorpion across the water, \"Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?\"

\"Well now, Master Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?\" asked the frog hesitantly.

\"Because,\" the scorpion replied, \"If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!\"

Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. \"What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!\"

\"This is true,\" agreed the scorpion, \"But then I wouldn\'t be able to get to the other side of the river!\"

\"Alright then...how do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?\" said the frog.

\"Ahh...,\" crooned the scorpion, \"Because you see, once you\'ve taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!\"

So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog\'s back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog\'s soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.

Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog\'s back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.

\"You fool!\" croaked the frog, \"Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?\"

The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog\'s back.

\"I could not help myself. It is my nature.\"

Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.

---

\"Else more, I fear, is on your shoulders. But whether your decision you shall not stand alone. In whatever time of need you find yourself, Imrazor shall be there aside your father and his, with Amroth behind us both.\"

Farielle listens, her eyes clinging to Prince Imrahil\'s face. A multitude of expressions cross her face as he speaks. \"I think he is a man of honor yet,\" she says, and, \"Some of them were kind to me.\" And, \"I gave no oath, in the marriage ceremony. So I can break none, there.\" And perhaps the name and reminder of her ancestors brings her comfort, for she nods at the last, and a flicker of a smile crosses her face.

\"Thank you, my Lord. I think...\" She looks hesitatingly to her father and says slowly, \"It is five years yet, before my father might seek a husband for me. So for that time, I will be wed to no one else. In that way, I keep my promise even if I do not call myself his wife or take his name.\" There is a faint question in her voice - does this decision meet with their approval?

\"Also, I have a letter for you, my lord.\" She takes it out, handing it to him. It is written in Lominzil\'s hand, and requests Sir Menelglir and his Squire Calarion to be released to Sir Imrakhor\'s bidding, to take quest into the north and west, to the land of the Druedain, seeking what may come of the ledger the Lord Bragollach has found.

\"Bragollach, yes. Alkhaszor was named a Bragollach, by your words,\" Imrahil begins, nearly forgetting the detail, \"I will ask you write a description of the man and what else you know of him and have it sent to my Captain. The rolls of the Bragollach are well documented and it will serve us to know as much of this man as we can.\" He then rises, stepping forward to offer his hand to Caronnen, \"Be well, my friend. And do not wait until there are other troubles to find your way to come and speak with me. With luck,\" the Prince breaks into a warm smile, \"It will be of a true love for your daughter, and news of a grandson for you. And this foul business put behind us both.\"

Then a nod for the Squire and then again the deeper for Farielle, \"Lady Farielle, be well.\"

When Farielle seeks her father\'s eyes, she finds them wearied but kind, and his strong hand upon her shoulder says more still.

To the Prince, Caronnen bows his chin as he takes the offered hand, a head of Girithlin once more. \"I thank you, my lord. The hope for such luck shall bolster my family, as have your words for my daughter and I.\"

This said, he steps back a pace from the throne to await the following of his children.

Farielle nods. \"I will, my lord.\" She curtsies again, her smile gaining strength - and her cheeks turning pink again as the Prince speaks of grandchildren. She turns away to follow her father and brother back out of the throne room.

Hidden from the Girithlin, the Prince follows their exit with his eyes, sadness becoming plain upon his face. Then his jaw tightens and his looks to his attendant, \"What is next?\" retaking his throne.