Prince Adrahil joined his wife for a private dinner that same evening in their rooms. Servants laid the supper swiftly upon their small table, then left. Adrahil seated his wife, dropped a kiss upon her head, then situated himself.
"How is Imrahil?" he asked as he carved her a serving of roast beef. Olwen shrugged.
"Well enough, I suppose," she said, helping herself to the side dishes. "He got up and tottered over to Andrahar's room this afternoon."
"That is good. I hope he got an eyeful."
"Now Adrahil, as foolish as he was—so foolish that I begin to doubt he could have come from my womb—he had nothing to do with those young men attacking Andrahar."
"They had been but waiting for a reason, Olwen, and he gave them one." He laid the slices of roast upon his wife's plate and addressed himself to his own supper.
"Well, he is most distraught," the Princess told him. "Andrahar told him this afternoon that he is leaving." Adrahil frowned.
"Did he say why?"
"Imri said that he had told him he had paid his life-debt, that Imrahil's misbehavior had finally become too much for him. And that he had outstayed his welcome."
The Prince's frown deepened. "There is little I can do about Imrahil's behavior--he rarely pays heed to me. He will have to amend his manners himself. But as to the other matter--I have had the report from Kendrion, and the folk at the brothel have been questioned by Ornendil. Do you know that we owe our son's life twice over to that young man? Once, for knowing what to do about the hekadi and once for killing two men in the brothel who sought to kill Andrahar and put Imrahil out in the street. They feared that he might die in the brothel, and incriminate them. Kendrion says Imrahil probably would not have survived had that happened."
Olwen ate a couple of bites. "I have always liked Andrahar," she remarked placidly when she had finished. "It would be a most grievous thing to lose him."
"I was not happy with Imrahil when he brought him back from Umbar," Adrahil admitted. "I thought it another of his ridiculous flights of fancy. But the young man has proven himself many times over. And it would grieve me as well to lose him because he feared for his life or thought that he was not welcome here."
"Do you know now who attacked him?" Olwen asked over the rim of her cup. The Prince raised his, and clinked it against hers gently before drinking.
"Yes. Peloren and Elethil came to me and admitted their participation, though they did not name their fellows. And as Kendrion had suggested, it was easy enough to find the others--Andrahar is a doughty fighter even when surprised and outnumbered, and he had marked them. Barador, Casveyllin and Golasgil were involved." The Princess sipped, then frowned.
"Most of our noble esquires."
"All of our noble esquires," the Prince amended, after taking a drink from his own cup. "Valyon was part of it as well, though Andrahar never got a blow in on him. He was, in fact, the ringleader. Ornendil discovered him by his hands. His face was unmarked, but his hands were quite bruised, and he was wearing gloves, hot as the day was. He'd have done better to wear them while he was doing the beating, he and Barador both. They were the instigators."
Olwen gave her husband a concerned look. "What will you do?"
"What I must," the Prince said with a sigh. "I cannot permit such behavior among my esquires."
"You would send them down? Over a Haradrim thief? Their fathers will be wroth with you." The Princess' tone suggested she was not actually questioning so much as confirming, and her husband smiled ruefully.
"Ah, but my Swan Knights will understand, and that is what is important! Besides, those lads all have fathers who can obtain them arms training in other ways. But we are the only chance Andrahar will have to make of himself something other than a sword for hire."
"If you can convince him to stay."
Adrahil smiled again, and this time it was the smile that had won Olwen's heart long ago, the charming, disarming smile that made him one of Gondor's most formidable negotiators.
"I have it on good authority," he said, leaning across the table to give his wife a kiss, "that I can be uncommonly persuasive at times."
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Unaware of his father's intentions, if not of his disapproval, Imrahil spent much time over the next two days in Andrahar's rooms helping to tend him, though the young Prince was still a bit shaky himself. The formerly comfortable relationship of the two young men was all awry. Imrahil, previously the dominant member of the relationship by virtue of both his rank and his social skills, now found himself lessened by his shameful actions and by comparison with Andrahar's courageous ones.
For the first time since he had met the Haradrim, Imrahil was the subordinate, the petitioner who sought favor, and he was uncertain of how to go about it. Conversations, usually free-ranging and easy about all manner of subjects, were now uncomfortably stilted. He wanted to bring Andrahar around to his way of thinking without being too obvious about it, but since any sort of subterfuge was distasteful to him at this time, he was left with few options. Unable to speak directly of the matter, he would look mournfully at his friend, trying to convey his sorrow, but Andrahar seemed unmoved. He hoped that the gentle care with which he tended Andrahar would serve to express his desire that he stay, but there seemed little indication that the Haradrim was getting the message.
Andrahar's imminent departure lay upon the young prince like a heavy black pall. He realized how much he had come to depend upon his friend and was determined not to lose him. But as the hours became days, and nothing he did seemed to convince Andrahar in the least, Imrahil's desperation grew until at last he contemplated using the one method of persuasion he had never tried before.
"Andra," he said, as he helped the Haradrim into bed the second night, "what must I do to convince you to stay? I would be willing to do anything. Absolutely anything at all." He had been sliding Andrahar's legs beneath the covers, when his hand came to restupon Andrahar's thigh. It felt slightly moist and hot as a brand through the thin linen of Andrahar's underdrawers.
An absolutely sickening surge of lust and longing came over the esquire then, and for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, he was tempted. At last, it has happened! Imrahil has agreed to sleep with me! I will have to be very gentle and careful so that he may enjoy it……
His hand was actually raised to caress the prince's cheek when the circumstances under which the offer had occurred sank in, and anger replaced the lust. The hand dropped swiftly.
"Do you seek to cozen me, Imrahil?" he ground out harshly through clenched teeth. "To bribe me with your body? You are the Heir to Dol Amroth! You whore yourself out to no man, least of all me! Get out!"
The young Prince swiftly removed his hand, and pulled the covers up. "But Andra, I thought that was what you wanted!" There was genuine confusion on his face.
"I do! But not like that! Because you want to, not because you want me to do something! Now get out, and do not return!" For if you stay, you will see me weep, and I do not want that…
Awareness of the enormity of the mistake he had made was coming over Imrahil's face.
"Andra, I am sorry! I thought--"
"--You do not think! You never think! Instead of constantly apologizing, it would be more to the point for you to cease doing the things that make the apologies necessary! Now GO!"
His expression one of stricken remorse, Imrahil departed swiftly. Once he had gone, Andrahar turned his face into the pillow and wept a few brief, hot tears. Not many, and not for long, but it was a sign to him of how poorly his self-control had slipped over the last couple of days.
I must leave this place, he thought to himself wearily, before I am completely undone!
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In accordance with Andrahar's wishes, Imrahil did not appear the next morning, which made certain necessary morning tasks rather difficult. Aside from the needing the assistance, and despite their current difficulties, Andrahar found himself missing the young prince. Imrahil was never at his best first thing in the morning, but he usually managed to be reasonably good-humored in spite of it. The esquire had not realized how dependent he had become upon the Heir's amiable companionship until he was denied it.
The maid who served the royal family brought him his breakfast, and soon after he had finished it, Master Kendrion came to see him.
"There is an assembly of the Swan Knights this morning, young Andrahar, and Prince Adrahil wishes to know if you are well enough to attend."
"I was upon my feet yesterday, Master Kendrion, and am able to be so again, if he wills it."
"He does indeed. But do not fear that you will have to stand--seating will be provided."
"Then I should be more than capable."
"You will no doubt need some assistance in dressing. I will aid you." It was a statement of intent, so Andrahar did not feel that he could deny the healer, and submittedquietly as Kendrion aided him in putting on his clothing and boots. In truth, he was grateful for the help.
Moving slowly to the mirror to comb his hair when the healer was done, Andrahar rubbed his chin. Imrahil had shaved him the day before, and though he had more beard than the young prince (who was quite jealous of that fact), it looked as if the task could safely wait another day.
"Do you need any further assistance, Andrahar?" Kendrion asked.
"No, Master Kendrion, and I thank you for the aid you have rendered me. But unless we are being summoned halfway across Dol Amroth, I should be well enough."
"The Knights have been called to the Great Hall."
"I can walk so far as that."
"Well then, I trust you will not mind if I walk with you, for the time grows near."
"As you wish, Master."
Walking silently beside the healer, Andrahar speculated briefly about the purpose of the assembly, then made himself stop doing so. The event was upon him, and his curiosity would be satisfied soon enough. Master Kendrion, seeing him uncommunicative, did not try to engage him in conversation, but merely paced quietly at his elbow until they reached the doors of the Great Hall.
Within the hall, rows of benches had been set up and the Swan Knights were seating themselves in order of precedence-senior knight officers to the front, rank-and-file knights in the middle, the esquires on the benches in the back. Large as the Great Hall was, the company of Swan Knights filled it quite completely; there was not very much open area between the front row of benches and the dais whereon the thrones of the Prince and Princess were placed. But within that space was another bench, and before it stood six esquires. At the sight of them, Andrahar stopped in his tracks for a moment.
My attackers! What do we do here this day?
Kendrion urged him forwards, not towards the back benches, but the front row bench instead, where Tarondor, a silver-haired senior knight, obligingly moved over to make room for the two of them. There was murmuring and some staring as Andrahar took his place, for the bruises upon his face were still quite livid though the swelling was much reduced.
They had no time to seat themselves, for all rose as Adrahil and his lady entered, followed by Armsmaster Ornendil, and Masters Theorwyn and Illian. The masters and Armsmaster went to the chairs provided for them upon either side of the thrones and stood waiting as the Prince and Princess seated themselves.
"Please, be seated," Adrahil commanded, and with a sighing rustle and the occasional muted clink of metal upon metal the company did so. "We are gathered here today for a serious matter, a disciplinary issue," he explained when all had settled themselves. "And 'tis best, I think, to deal with the matter swiftly, troubling though it may be. Esquires Valyon, Casveyllin, Golasgil, Barador, Peloren and Elethil will rise."
The six esquires stood up. They were all buffed and polished as if for inspection, perhaps in the hope that such precision might inspire clemency, perhaps simply to bolster their own morale. Adrahil surveyed them with a magisterial severity quite unlike his usual kind manner.
"Three days ago, in utter violation of our Code, the six of you set upon your fellow esquire Andrahar while he lay asleep in his room. You attacked and subdued him, binding his limbs so that he could not retaliate, and then some of you beat him till he was so sorely injured that he has only recently been able to rise from his bed. Before I pass judgement upon you, I ask you now, in the company of your brethren, if you have anything to say for yourselves."
There was a long moment's silence and much uneasy shuffling of feet and bowed heads from the accused. Then Valyon stood forth from the others, his head high, and spoke.
"He is naught but a dirty Southron, an unfit companion for the Prince. Your kindness blinds you to this fact, Your Highness! He is the one who keeps leading Imrahil astray, teaching him his filthy Southern vices!"
"That is not true!" Imrahil cried, leaping to his feet where he sat with the other esquires at the back of the company. "Andrahar has never tried to teach me anything of the kind! Indeed, he has oft sought to restrain me from such indulgences. He was not even in the room with me the other night when I drank the hekadi. Had he been, he would have tried to stop me, for he has no use for such things, nor respect for those use them!"
Murmuring arose from the esquire benches, and even from some of the knights. Andrahar could not turn to watch the Prince, for his rib pained him too much, but in his mind's eye he could imagine Imrahil, tall and straight, fire in his eyes and his chin in the air, and despite his recent anger at the Heir to Dol Amroth, he was hard pressed not to smile.
"Silence, Imrahil!" Adrahil commanded his heir sternly across the company. "Be seated." Imrahil sank back down upon his bench. "You will have an opportunity to speak in time, if you so wish it. Right now, I want to hear from these gentlemen." He turned his attention back to Valyon.
"Valyon, if you truly believed that Andrahar was guilty of such crimes, you should have reported him to myself or your superiors. Instead, your excuse for this heinous act is that you felt my judgement is lacking? That I erred in admitting someone to the Swan Knights whom you felt was unfit? Is it then your intention to follow orders only when you think they are justified?" The esquire blanched at that, but to his credit, still held his head high. Adrahil frowned. "You are your father's heir, Valyon, and in time will be expected to rule upon matters of law in your own lands. I wish you to consider something. You and your friends took it upon yourselves to accuse, pass sentence upon and punish Andrahar for a crime he did not commit. But even had he committed it, by your actions you usurped my rights as ruler of this demesne! And that is not an offence I take lightly!"
"But, my lord, we did not intend any offense to you!" Golasgil protested. "We just wanted him to go away!"
"And again, you set yourselves against me and thwarted my rule when you did so! Remember this when you come to rule Anfalas, Golasgil. Do any of the rest of you have anything you wish to say?" There was no response. Prince Adrahil sighed heavily. "The most important thing that a Swan Knight learns as an esquire is to trust his brother esquires. This attack of yours upon a brother shows that you are unfit to become Swan Knights. Esquires Valyon, Golasgil, Barador and Casveyllin--you are dismissed from our company, and will be escorted to your homes tomorrow morning."
Faces pale and set, the four esquires bowed and filed out, Casveyllin obviously fighting back tears. The Prince then fastened his gaze upon the two who remained.
"Esquires Elethil and Peloren. Though you would not reveal the names of your fellow conspirators to us, the two of you did come to me and to Armsmaster Ornendil and confess your crimes of your own volition. And Esquire Andrahar says that neither of you struck him, and that you actually tried to dissuade the other esquires from doing so. Because of these facts, I am inclined to be somewhat more lenient towards the two of you." The esquires looked up at him, hope and curiosity mingled upon their faces.
"I will give both of you a choice," the Prince declared. "You may return to your homes, as did the others. Or you may choose instead to serve with the foot for a year as common soldiers. If, upon completion of that year, I receive a favorable report from your commanding officer, I will reinstate you as esquires once more. What say you?"
Elethil and Peloren looked at each, conversed in whispers for a few moments, then Peloren spoke softly.
"We will serve with the foot, if it please your Highness."
Adrahil smiled. "It does indeed please me. Esquires Elethil and Peloren, you are dismissed from our company, but with the hope that you will one day return to it. Report to Sergeant Merith in the morning." The two former esquires bowed and departed as well.
Andrahar sat there stunned, listening for the distant sound of fish singing in the streets. The Prince of Dol Amroth has just expelled four of Belfalas' noblest young men from the Swan Knights because of their offenses towards me! And he has punished the other two in a manner appropriate for their crimes…for my sake! It would seem that, in Dol Amroth at least, even street-rats have some value.
He looked up at the Prince and saw the calm wisdom in his eyes, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. As I would never be allowed to rule, it becomes my part to serve. And I will never find a lord worthier of service than this one! With my attackers dealt with, I am in no peril of my life. Perhaps I should stay…but then there is Imrahil…
Who coincidentally had risen to his feet once more.
"My lord prince?" he inquired of his father, his mode of address indicating that it was the esquire and not the Heir who stood before Adrahil.
"Have you somewhat to say, Esquire Imrahil?"
"Yes, my lord, if you would allow me to do so."
The Prince gestured towards the Swan Knights. "Your brethren are before you. Speak." Imrahil moved to the front of the room where he could be heard by both the company and those upon the dais.
"First of all, I would apologize to my brethren for bringing such strife and divisiveness upon them," he said earnestly. "I bear some responsibility for this, for even as you said, had I not imperiled myself, then my fellow esquires would not have had cause to wrongly blame Andrahar for my troubles." Adrahil raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise interrupt, and the young Prince continued.
"Secondly, I owe Esquire Andrahar both a profound apology and my most sincere thanks. He saved me from my own folly, and it is far more than I deserve, given the way I have treated him." Imrahil looked at his friend contritely. "I thank you, Andrahar."
Andrahar, his face expressionless, nodded an acknowledgement. The young Prince turned back to his father.
"Thirdly, my lord, I fear that I am not worthy to become a Swan Knight myself at present, for though I did not attack my fellow esquire, I did abuse his trust in other ways. I would ask that I share the fate of Elethil and Peloren, and serve in the foot for a year as a common soldier, that I might better learn to appreciate my brothers in arms."
A murmur arose from the Swan Knights, and a flicker of surprise crossed Adrahil's face. He regarded his son thoughtfully for a moment.
"No Prince of Dol Amroth has ever served so, Imrahil," he said at last, "though it is true indeed that you need to learn an appreciation for those whom you rule and command. But as my Heir there is also much else you need to learn, and while such an experience would undoubtedly be beneficial to you, I cannot spare you for an entire year. Other arrangements have already been made. Captain Erengar's ship the Asfallin sails in the morning, and it seems to me that this would be a good time for you to resume your sea training. You may seek to win your white belt at a later time."
Imrahil stood tall and looked his father in the eye, but Andrahar could see that he was striving to suppress his disappointment. The Asfallin regularly patrolled the coast of western Gondor--there were no stops in exotic ports of call and she only made port in Dol Amroth. It was a necessary duty, but for the most part a tedious one. Adrahil was fulfilling his heir's oft-stated wish to return to sea, but in a way that would minimize his opportunities for getting into trouble.
"Do you accept my judgement in this matter?" the Prince asked his son.
Imrahil bowed. "I do, my lord prince."
"Then Esquire Imrahil, you are dismissed from our company, but with the hope that one day you will return to it. Report to Captain Erengar in the morning." Adrahil was all formality, but the young Prince could see there was a pleased gleam in his father's eye, and the knowledge of Adrahil's approval heartened him somewhat. He bowed and departed, after giving Andrahar a hopeful look. Adrahil, following his glance, turned his keen gaze upon his son's friend as well.
"Esquire Andrahar," the Prince intoned, and the Haradrim got slowly to his feet, straightening to attention with care for his damaged rib. The Prince rose as well, gesturing that the other knights should remain seated, and came down from the dais to stand before the young man.
"Despite the crime perpetrated against you, you held faithfully to our code of conduct, and in fact have ever done so since your admittance to our company, even in the face of prejudice and hatred. And you have been a loyal friend and protector to my son. I commend you for your care of him, and I thank you for his life." Stepping forward to close the distance between them, Adrahil laid gentle hands upon Andrahar's shoulders and kissed him on the brow. He then released him and stepped back.
"I will speak with you again when you are feeling stronger about how I may express my gratitude more fully." Andrahar started to bow in response, despite the pain it would have caused him, but was halted by the Prince's upheld hand and shake of his head, and inclined his own head instead.
"My lord prince is kind."
"Nay, I but seek to reward where reward is merited, as is my duty." He turned and went back to his chair, and his lady wife rose to stand beside him. All of the Knights and esquires then got to their feet.
"This assembly is concluded, gentlemen." Everyone stood quietly until the Prince and Princess had exited, whereupon the Swan Knights all began to mingle and talk among themselves while the esquires leapt to remove the benches from the hall under Master Ornendil's direction. Kendrion's hand upon Andrahar's kept him from joining in the toil, and he found himself the object of some attention and praise from the senior knights. He submitted to this as graciously and modestly as possible until weariness began to overwhelm him, whereupon the healer shooed the knights away as if they were a flock of fowl, and escorted him back to his room.
Once there, he did off his uniform with Kendrion's help and crawled gratefully back into his nest of pillows, where he slept the remainder of the day away.
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"Andra? Andra, wake up. I have your supper." Imrahil's voice and the smell of roasted meat roused Andrahar, who cracked his eyes open to find that the sun had just set and the Heir to Dol Amroth was perched on the chair beside his bed with a tray in hand.
"I know you said that you did not wish for me to return, but I wanted to say goodbye to you before I sailed, and I thought you would not mind if I brought your supper." The young Prince's manner was uncharacteristically tentative, as if he feared to be rebuffed.
The Haradrim pushed himself up onto an elbow with a pained grunt.
"No, Imri, I do not mind. In truth, I wish that you had come earlier--I did not intend to sleep the day away." Imrahil gave him a relieved smile, glanced over his shoulder out the window, then turned his attention back to helping Andrahar sit up and take the dinner tray.
"You must have needed the rest," he commented, much more cheerful now that he was sure of his welcome. "But I fear that you will be awake half the night now."
Andrahar lifted both his fork and an eyebrow. "I could always come to your room and help you pack. Or you will be up half the night yourself, doing it a dozen times, finicky as you are."
The corners of the Heir's mouth twisted up into a wry grin. "Are you not afraid that I will try to seduce you once more?" Andrahar was already applying himself to the tender roast, and took a moment to chew and swallow--and collect himself--before replying.
"I think that you have learned your lesson about that," he said at last, with a reasonable semblance of calm.
Imrahil's brow furrowed, and his voice was sincere when he said, "Andra, I really did mean it. I know that you have always wanted it, and I wouldn't have minded."
"Ah, but that is exactly the point. You have always known that I wanted it, but never before did you offer. Not until you wanted something from me." He took a drink from the tankard on the tray before continuing with a complaint. "Besides, your timing was piss-poor--I am much too battered to be able to enjoy that sort of thing right now!" Despite himself, laughter exploded from Imrahil, and Andrahar smiled a little. "Leave it, Imri. It is done, and we will not mention it again."
Sobering, the Heir asked, "Have you made any decisions yet about where you are going?"
Andrahar shook his head. "I will probably just see what is available here, and if there is nothing to my liking, journey to Pelargir, and find something there."
"I will worry about you, making your way alone in the world."
"I made my way alone in the world for five years before you showed up."
"And look how well you did!" That won the Prince a disgruntled frown from his friend, but after a moment Andrahar's face cleared, and he chuckled.
"You do have a point. But I am much more dangerous now." He started to eat in earnest, then paused. "Did you not bring anything for yourself? Would you like to join me?"
"I cannot," Imrahil said regretfully. "Mother and Father wish me to dine with them this evening, as it is my last night on land."
"Well then, by all means you should go to them." The Haradrim looked down at his plate, seemingly contemplating his next attack upon his supper, then back up again. "Your father surprised me today, Imri . I never expected anything like that to happen."
"I told you that he would not suffer such injustice in his realm."
Andrahar nodded. "So you did. And you were right. But it was a surprise nonetheless. I had long been accustomed to thinking that justice…was not for the likes of me."
"Perhaps it is not in Umbar or the rest of Harad or even the rest of Gondor. But such is not the case in Dol Amroth," the Heir declared with a roguish smile. "Which is a very good reason for you to decide to stay here."
"Cozening me again, are you?"
"No, merely trying to persuade you."
"Well, your efforts to persuade me are going to make you late for your dinner with your parents. I do not wish to offend my sole arbiter of justice, so get you gone! And when you are done with dinner, if you wish my help preparing your things, then come and get me. I dare say I shall be awake." Imrahil nodded, rose and left.
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False dawn was glowing faintly through Imrahil's windows when he gave his sea-bag a last doleful look and turned to Andrahar, who had spent a couple of hours after dinner the night before helping the Prince as he had promised with the almost impossible task of winnowing Imrahil's extensive wardrobe down to the minimal levels that would fit into his allotted stowage. The esquire had returned just minutes before to say his farewells.
"They'll be bringing the carriage around any moment--I must get down to the ship," Imrahil said somberly. "Will you not bide here until I return, Andra--for your own sake as well as mine? Those who attacked you are no longer here. You are not in danger, and I will not be troubling you. You could be a full-fledged knight by the time my tour on the Asfallin is done."
Andrahar shook his head. "My decision is made, Imri."
"If you go, I do not know when we will meet again." The Haradrim made one of his eloquent hand gestures.
"My people have a saying--that Fortune loves to reunite friends or enemies. I suspect our paths will cross again." He smiled wryly. "Hopefully, we will not be on opposite sides of a battlefield when they do."
The Heir contemplated that depressing prospect for a moment, then stepped forward and took his friend into his arms, careful of his injured rib.
"The Valar guard and guide you, Andra," he murmured.
Andrahar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Since it is farewell, perhaps he will not mind just this once, he told himself as he gave in to his long-leashed desires for a moment, first embracing Imrahil fiercely in turn, then even daring to kiss him lightly upon the lips. When he opened his eyes and looked up at his friend a moment later, he saw neither returned passion nor disgust, but rather warm affection and acceptance.
"The water is to stay outside of the boat at all times," he growled gruffly at Imrahil, while struggling to regain his composure. "And you are to stay on the boat at all times!"
The young Prince's eyes lit up with sudden mirth, and he laughed in the way that Andrahar loved best. "It is a ship, Andra, but I will bear that ever in mind. You be careful as well!"
"I am good enough that I do not have to be careful." Andrahar declared, his chin lifted in mock pomposity. Imrahil laughed again, a dramatic hand clutching his chest.
"Someone has a good opinion of himself!"
"Since everyone else about me considers me some sort of fiend, I have to have a good opinion of myself!"
"I have a very good opinion of you," came the Prince's statement, his voice grave once more, just as a knock sounded at the door.
"I know that, Imri," Andrahar answered, equally quiet, as the servant outside announced that the coach was ready. Imrahil said no more, but picked up his sea-bag and slung it over his shoulder. He moved to the door, opened it, and paused for a moment in the doorway, looking back at his friend. Andrahar lifted his hand, the Heir nodded with a sad smile, and departed.
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Later that same day, Prince Adrahil summoned Andrahar to him. The esquire entered his study to find him staring pensively out the window over the harbor.
"My lord?" he announced his presence quietly. Adrahil turned, and smiled.
"Ah, Andrahar! Do come in, and by all means, sit down." The Prince indicated a comfortable chair that stood before his desk, and Andrahar sank into it carefully. Adrahil then seated himself in his own chair and folding his hands upon the desk, addressed the esquire softly.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better, my lord. Master Kendrion has been most thorough in his treatment of my injuries. I expect that I will be completely healed before very long."
"My son informs me that you wish to leave my service when you are well enough to do so. Is that true?"
"Yes, my lord prince."
"I am not unaware of the…difficulties…you have been experiencing with Imrahil, not to mention the rest of the esquires. But I feel that it would be unwise for you to leave Dol Amroth before your training is finished. May I explain my thoughts upon the matter to you?"
"Of course, my lord prince." Adrahil smiled.
"If you leave now, I have no doubt that with your skills, you can find work as a mercenary most anywhere, including Harad. You could even hire out in Pelargir as a bodyguard or merchant caravan escort. But it would be work as a common sell-sword, and you would have to advance yourself the hard way. If you wished to remain in Gondor, you would quite frankly find your way hampered by your origins. I think that you know this."
The esquire nodded, and leaning back in his chair, the Prince continued. "If, on the other hand, you were to complete your Swan Knight training, I would be willing to give you such a glowing recommendation that you could take an honored place as an officer in any company in Belfalas, Anfalas or even the rest of Gondor. A much more appropriate use for a young man of your talents, to my way of thinking."
Andrahar stared at him, astonished. "Why, my lord, have you such concern for my future?"
"This is not about my wanting you to continue to nanny Imrahil, if that is what you fear, Andrahar," the Prince reassured him. "As you know, he sailed this morning, and is no longer your concern." His expression became pensive.
"I never won my white belt--not all of the Princes do," Adrahil said quietly, after a moment's pause. "Some do not care to, and some try and do not succeed. When I was a young man, I went to sea and caught one of those recurrent southern fevers. It damaged my health at that time to such an extent that my career in arms was effectively ended, temporarily at least, and by the time I had recovered, I had found other aspects of governance more to my liking, and concentrated upon them instead."
"Nonetheless," and he leaned forward once more, picking up a quill and toying absently with it, "as both Heir and ruling Prince, I have supervised the Swan Knights for most of my adult life, and watched enough warriors that I think I am a fair judge of them. And you are something extraordinary. I should truly hate to lose you, but if you are set upon leaving, then out of thanks for your care of Imrahil, I am going to see that your prospects are as favorable as possible." He rose, setting the quill aside, and Andrahar rose as well. Moving to a cloth-draped table at the side of the study, he indicated with a gesture that the esquire should join him, and Andrahar did so.
"Four, if I recollect correctly, is the number that denotes choice in the numerology of your people, does it not?" the Prince inquired in a rather odd change of topic. The Haradrim, confused, nodded.
"Choice, or possibility, my lord. Because of the four winds, and the four quarters of the compass."
"Then I am giving you a choice. Not to stay or to go, but another decision, one about a traveling companion that will remain with you whether you stay with us or seek your fortune elsewhere." He drew away the cloth, and Andrahar's eyes went wide. Four swords lay upon the table, and not a one of them was a common blade, though they varied greatly in size, shape and in the degree of ornamentation that adorned them. The first was the flashiest, with a sizeable sapphire for a pommel stone. The second sword was plain, but there was a severe purity to its design that was very pleasing. The third blade looked like something like a cross between a scimitar and a Gondorian blade, and the scabbard was ornamented with leaf tracings. The fourth was a scimitar in truth, with a beautifully graven scabbard and a hilt with an elaborate lacing of braided leather.
"Choose one," the Prince commanded, indicating the blades. "A swordsman such as yourself deserves a good blade, and I know better than to press one upon you willy-nilly. Take whichever suits you best."
"These are all too magnificent for the likes of me, my lord!" Andrahar protested, but Adrahil shook his head.
"They are not if I say that they are not. Take all the time you like, but choose! If you would leave us, I will see that you go out into the world properly equipped, in thanks for your service to my son. Think you his life not worth one fine sword?"
There was, of course, but one answer to that, and Andrahar leaned over the table to peer more closely at the swords for a moment, then closed his hand about the hilt of the first one, the one with the sapphire pommel, and drew it. It had scarce cleared the scabbard before he knew that the balance was wrong for him, too tip-heavy, and he immediately sheathed it.
The second sword's clean elegance appealed to him; when drawn, the wavy sheen of its blade proclaimed it to be sea-steel, possibly from Numenor itself. Andrahar's mind boggled at the idea of a prince who had so much wealth that he could afford to give such a blade away as if it were a mere bauble. A careful swing or two proved the sword's balance every bit as good as its steel, and he set it back upon the table unsheathed for further consideration.
The third blade also did not suit him; too light for his taste, though it was well-balanced. He hesitated before taking the fourth sword up, but even before the blade was fully out of the sheath, he knew his choice was made--the hilt fit his hand as if made for it. The wavy-patterned blade hissed softly as it was drawn from its elaborate casing, and a rare, joyous smile creased his face. Falling into stance despite his injury, he made a few slow passes with it, one- and two-handed, reveling in the feel of a sword that truly suited him.
"This one," he said, a bit unnecessarily after a moment, and Prince Adrahil smiled.
"So be it. It is yours." Andrahar sheathed the scimitar and the sea-steel blade, then took up the scimitar possessively once more. The Prince indicated the sword with the sapphire pommel.
"Swanwing. Carried in the past by several of the Heirs to Dol Amroth, though its balance does not suit Imri any better than it does you."
"Starfall, this blade is named," he continued, gesturing towards the second sword that Andrahar had almost chosen. "Sea-steel, and a relic of one of the lords who sailed with Imrazor. His house ended long ago. Named thusly because it is said that a piece of the metal it was forged from fell from the sky. Princes of our house have also borne this blade from time to time."
Adrahil then traced a light finger down the scabbard of the third sword. "This blade has no name. Lord Gildor says it is of Elven make, but either knows nothing, or will tell nothing of its history. How it even came to be in our keeping is something of a mystery. When it was offered back to him in my grandsire's time, he said that it would do well enough where it is."
Lastly, he came to the scimitar. "And according to our armory records, 'tis said that this blade is Nightshade."
Andrahar stared at the swords in awe. He had known the blades were special, but had never imagined that the Prince would offer him such precious heirlooms of his house. As for the scimitar, if what Adrahil said was true, then legend was what he held now in his hand. "I do not see how it could be Nightshade, my lord," he said doubtfully. "T'was always said that it was lost in the retreat from Pelargir, where the Umbarians slew Minardil."
"You know the story then?"
"Yes, my lord. T'was said to be one of three remaining blades crafted by the great swordsmith Mahiran. One of the other two is held by the khan of Khambaluk, and the last is the ka-khan's sword of state." Andrahar stroked a hand gently down the scabbard.
"Nightshade belonged to Kedara, the khan of Lokhar. He was a mighty warrior, the last of his house, and in the full flower of his strength, but had never married. He had a friend, a shield brother, Asinyal, lord of a clan friendly to his, also young and unmarried."
"The two of them had thrown in with Castamir, and when he was repelled from Pelargir, they were separated in battle. Mighty as he was, Kedara fought with the rearguard, and was one of the last to make it aboard ship safely, only to find that his friend and some of the other rearguard had been trapped amidst a horde of Gondorrim. Despite the pleas of the other lords, he leapt from the ship to shore, and fought his way back to his friend's side. And there they died, back to back."
Andrahar gave the Prince a wry look. "There is an epic poem about it, very popular among my people. The Gondorrim do not come off very well in it."
Adrahil nodded, unoffended. "I know. I have read it. But we were not quite the villains that it claims. For instance, at least according to the chronicles we have here, we did not dishonor the bodies as the poem says. They were given to the Fire in accordance with the customs of your people, and out of respect for their deeds."
"The sword should have been returned."
"To whom? As you say, Kedara had no surviving kin, and this fact was widely known. And I will admit that my ancestors had their own covetous, piratical moments from time to time." The Prince looked down upon the sword in Andrahar's hand. "Besides, today it was returned, in a manner of speaking. A fitting blade for another young man of valor and prowess. Perhaps it has even been waiting for you here all this time--who can say?" He then looked back up at Andrahar, and solemnly asked, in Haradric and in the formal manner of the esquire's people, "Andrahar of Umbar, I would know your father's name."
Andrahar gaped at the Prince, astonished. Among the Haradrim, it was forbidden that a bastard should ever volunteer his lineage, and though he was no longer in Harad, Andrahar had held to faithfully to the custom. Only Imrahil knew of his family, because Imrahil had asked. The formal request was one of the highest compliments a bastard could receive. It said that his deeds were noble and worthy of praise no matter the circumstances of his birth.
The inner garden, the sun burning white in the sky at midday, the myriad scents of the flowers heavy in the hot air. Sparring with his instructor in arms while his father watched from a couch beneath an awning. Andrahar's mother Ariyë was at the lord's feet, embroidering a festival shirt for her son, and from time to time Isfhandifar's hand would glide lovingly over her sleek black head. Only a couple of months would pass before things would change irrevocably. This was his last, happiest memory of that life.
Andrahar slipped through his teacher's guard and touched him, then straightened and bowed to the man, the bout over. His father would insist upon these displays from time to time, that he might monitor his son's progress. Isfhandijar beckoned teacher and pupil over. Both made obeisance and the swordsman spoke.
"You can see it is as I have said, my khan. He is moving beyond my poor skills, and at such a young age! He needs a proper sword master now."
Isfhandijar nodded, and passed a sizeable purse to the man. "Then he shall have one. My thanks to you for your diligence and care." The man, very pleased, bowed once more and departed to return to the other pupils whom he oversaw in the khan's household. Andrahar's father beckoned him over, indicating the floor beside his couch, next to his mother, who smiled as the boy approached. Andrahar knelt, and bowed his head respectfully.
"You learn your weapons well, my tiger," Isfhandijar's deep voice rumbled in approval. "Now if only your book learning were so advanced…"
"It is difficult for me, my lord," Andrahar murmured apologetically. "Except for the languages. But I will try harder."
The khan poured him a cup of mint tea from the table next to the couch with his own hands and offered it to him.
"I know that you will." He reached out, slipped a hand behind Andrahar's sweat-soaked head and drew it close, pressing a kiss upon his brow. "And I am very proud of you this day." Andrahar, pleased by the praise, smiled at his father. Isfhandijar gestured towards his mother. "Have you seen what your mother has wrought for you? Is it not appropriate?" Andrahar admired the small, snarling tigers embroidered upon the collar and cuffs of the shirt, for they were much to his taste, and gave Ariyë a kiss. His father's hand touched his head then like a blessing, sword calluses catching a bit upon his soft hair.
"You will serve our house well, my tiger, when your claws have come in," he said softly. "I wish that you could rule instead of serve, but that is not your destiny. Always remember, though, that you have my blood in your veins. And that you carry my love with you always as well." That last was said even more quietly, whispered close to his ear, and Andrahar wondered why--until he felt eyes upon his back and turned his head to see Iskhandar, the youngest of Isfhandijar's legitimate sons, staring at him with absolute hate from across the garden…
"Andrahar? Is something wrong?" The Prince's query cut through the fog of reminiscence surrounding him. Andrahar looked up, and to his great shame had to blink a couple of times before his vision cleared. But Adrahil either did not notice or was politely feigning that he did not.
"I am sorry, my lord prince. Your words of my father…caused me to remember him." He took a couple of deep breaths in an effort to master himself.
"It was not my intention to cause you pain."
"You did not, sir. My memories of my father are good ones." Andrahar fell silent, stroking Nightshade's sheath, until he became aware of the Prince's expectant gaze upon him and realized that he had never answered Adrahil's question.
"You honor me more than I deserve, my lord, but if you truly wish to know--my father was Isfhandijar, late the khan of Bakshir."
If Adrahil was surprised to learn that his son's street-rat was the offspring of one of the most important rulers in Harad, he did not show it.
"Do you know, I actually encountered your father years ago?" he said thoughtfully. "I was doing some trade negotiations for Ecthelion. I did not speak to him, but he was there with the delegation and I was told who he was. You look a great deal like him--which explains the feeling I've had from time to time that I'd seen you somewhere before."
"Indeed, my lord?'
"Indeed. And I think that if he were here today, Isfhandijar would be very proud of his son."
A rare blush suffused Andrahar's cheeks. "There is no way of ever knowing that, my lord prince. But I have tried to carry myself as I believe he would have wished me to."
"And how do you suppose he would advise you, were he here and knew of your current situation?" The Prince's tone was mild, but Andrahar knew his question was anything but casual.
"As I could never become a lord myself because of my birth, he would have preferred me to be in honorable service to a worthy lord rather than become a mercenary," the Haradrim admitted slowly.
"Even a Gondorrim lord?" Adrahil asked with a smile.
"My people admire worthy opponents, sir. You have always treated me fairly. Your justice towards both friend and foe is known throughout Belfalas and beyond. As my own folk and family have sought to enslave or slay me, I do not think my father would be shamed by my serving Adrahil of Dol Amroth."
The Prince smiled again, and returned to his chair, seating himself once more. "I thank you for that, Andrahar--praise from an honorable man is a treasure indeed! But I will not press you to give me a decision now, for there is no reason to rush--you would be some time healing before you could resume your duties anyway." He looked up at Andrahar, and his gaze was very direct.
"When Imrahil first brought you home, I did not want you here. I thought you an uncouth barbarian who would lead my son into trouble. I was wrong about that, and many other things. You have a home here, for as long as you like, for the rest of your life if you should so choose. I do not think there are many other places in the world of which that can be said for you. But I will respect any decision you choose to make."
Andrahar bowed deeply then, despite his rib and before Adrahil could stop him.
"I thank you, my lord prince, for both that kindness and the blade."
"And I thank you again for my son's life, and your service."
Whereupon the Prince inclined his head graciously and indicated with a gesture that Andrahar was free to go. The esquire was just opening the door when he spoke again.
"Consider your choice wisely, Andrahar. Take the time to explore all of your options. Good afternoon."
Andrahar nodded and departed with much to think upon.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8
That night, Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth dreamed. Not the usual sort of dream common to common men, but the prescient vision that plagued his family from time to time, equal parts frustrating and useful.
But this was not a troubling vision of some future doom. It was merely a single image, of two men upon a battlement in the evening. He could not discern if the battlement was Minas Tirith, or Dol Amroth, or some other unknown fortress entirely, but after a moment, it became apparent that one of the men was Imrahil, come to maturity and beyond, his hair starting to silver, and the other was Andrahar, his blue-black tresses gone gaily striped with grey. The two conversed together, leaning upon the merlon, their shoulders touching, and though Adrahil could not discern the words of their conversation, their manner was that of very old friends who were totally comfortable and at ease with each other.
When his wife asked him the next morning if he thought he'd persuaded Andrahar to stay, the Prince was noncommittal. But he was unsurprised when, two days later, the Haradrim came to him and said that he would complete his training.