Chapter 29 – Fealty

Ashtir looked at himself in the mirror and tried to decide if perhaps he was asleep. He had been dreaming of this moment for so long that he could hardly believe it had finally arrived. He was here, in Gondor, returned to the people to whom he had once belonged, and he wore again the hauberk of the White Tree and Seven Stars.

When he and Soroush first pledged their fealty to Sultana Taja, they were given their robes and shown how to drape the cloth around them so that it would remain in place throughout the day. They had at first bemoaned the impossibility of learning the intricate pattern of knots, tucks and wraps, certain they would never figure it out. Then one day to their surprise they discovered they had been donning the robes without having to think about it for some time. When Ashtir traded his dagger for the shirt and pants of a commoner that he had worn to his first interview with the King Elessar, he wondered momentarily if he would be able to remember how to put them on. He was relieved when it came back to him so easily, when his fingers began tying up the laces of the breeches without any thought or hesitation. The relief was short-lived, for as soon as he moved, he was bemused to find the clothes binding and restrictive, and the fabric was so close to his body that he felt exposed in a manner he never would have suspected. He had been all too eager to shed them for the robes.

Now he stood in a sitting room off the Hall of Kings, standing in the uniform of Gondor. He had expected it to feel odd and foreign, a heavy and cumbersome obstruction. The Haradrim wore only armor plates over their vests and saw no point in weighing themselves down with chain mail as the Gondorians and Rohirrim did. The uniform did feel odd – the Guard of the Tower wore finer armor and fabric than had his uncle’s humble company – and yet it at once felt familiar and comfortable, as though the past seven years in Harad had never happened. Yet he carried the scars of the battle which had forever changed the course of his life, and he bore on his upper arm the mark of the House of the Moon. He was changed in other ways as well, ways he knew he would not fully understand or realize until he returned to his homeland and the people who had known him best. He was both excited and terrified at the prospect of going home, and more relieved than he cared to admit to have a position here in the White City to return to. Before he could do that though, he had to foreswear his queen, who had saved him and sheltered him, and pledge his allegiance to his new king.

He drew his scimitar from its scabbard. He had requested to retain his Haradrim sword. He’d had little occasion to use it over the years but it had been a constant companion at his side and he found the broad, curving blade contained a grace and beauty that a standard sword lacked. Furthermore, he had wished to keep one memento of his years in the House of the Moon and the sword had been the most practical choice.

He watched himself in the mirror as he moved through the traditional parley positions, pausing between each pose until he came to the last one. He then executed them again, this time in one smooth, continuing motion. He felt the slide of the chain mail against his skin, the pull and tug of the fabric as it shifted with his movements and the limitations of the armor. With each pass through the positions, he felt more comfortable with the uniform, more awake within himself. He finished a final pass and sheathed the scimitar. He was ready.

Another ten minutes ticked by before a knock on the door announced that the King was ready. Ashtir looked himself over once more and put his Haradrim robes and sandals in the sack the esquire had given him. The clothes would be taken he knew not where; he would never again see or wear them. Someday, he might even forget how to put them on. He opened the door and, after he passed the esquire’s inspection, followed him into the Hall of Kings.

The white polished stone gleamed in the morning sunlight that filtered into the room through high windows. Between the sunbeams the black pillars rose as shadows to the vaulted ceiling, the gold of which gleamed as the sun itself, casting a glowing hue upon the gargoyles and motifs at the tops of the pillars. The avenue of Kings stood grand and proud between the pillars, the golden light upon their crowns, the white sunlight illuminating their marble forms. Before the pillars and kings of old on either side of the hall stood flanks three rows deep: the officers of the three companies of the guard, the advisors and ambassadors of the court, and the princes and lords of the provinces. At the end of the hall was the dais. Upon the first step was a simple chair of black stone, upon which sat Prince Faramir, a golden circlet on his brow and in his hand the white staff of the Steward. At the top of dais, sitting upon the throne beneath the marble canopy, was the King Elessar. A great white crown sat upon his head, and the fiery gem set over the brow shined red hot. In his hand was a white sceptre and upon his cloak shone the Star of the North. Behind him upon the wall beset with emeralds and diamonds was a tree in flower, and the light danced off the gemstones so that it appeared alive and marvelous and beautiful. Attending the prince was the page, Bergil, and Sir Peregrin stood at his King’s right side.

Ashtir’s nerves returned and redoubled. If he had thought himself ready, he found himself now sadly lacking in resolve. His heart pounded in his chest and the pulse at his throat, already restricted from the collar of the uniform, felt as though it would burst with each beat. His limbs shook with fear and his breath quickened as one long pursued. His throat dried and he panicked – he would not be able to speak his pledge! He continued forward despite this, drawn by the esquire in front of him to the base of the dais. There he knelt upon his knees, and for a terrifying moment began to lean forward as though to lie upon the floor as the Haradrim to their majesties. With a great effort, he curbed the impulse and remained upright, but he was sweating now and he trembled so much he thought that certainly everyone must see it. Then the esquire brought him a wooden cup deep with water. Ashtir took it gratefully and drank it all. When he was ready, the esquire spoke.

“Master Ashtir of the Haradrim, Your Majesty.”

“Why come you before me, Master Ashtir?” King Elessar asked. His voice was gentle but commanding. It rebounded off the marble and echoed down from the golden dome, filling the otherwise silent hall with its warm vibrato.

“I come to pledge my fealty to the Lord and Steward of Gondor,” Ashtir said.

“And in doing so, do you understand and accept that you foreswear your service to any other Lord or Lady of any realm that is not Gondor or Arnor Reunited?” King Elessar asked. “For in the moment you pledge your fealty to me you will cease to be Master Ashtir of the Haradrim and your duty to them will be no more.”

“I understand this and accept this, Your Lordship,” Ashtir said.

“Then so speak your pledge,” commanded Prince Faramir.

Ashtir wished he had another drink of water, but failing to find one, he licked his lips and swallowed the bile creeping up his throat. He withdrew his scimitar, the familiar grip of the pommel acting as an anchor to this place. He held the sword before him and focused upon its reassuring weight. He cleared his mind of everything but the pledge he had been memorizing all morning. His voice shook at first but grew steadier as he continued.

“Here I do 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, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Sador son of Tangor of Belfalas in Gondor.”*

“And this do I hear, Aragorn the King Elessar son of Arathorn, High King of Gondor, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valor with honor, oath-breaking with vengeance.”* Elessar rose and as one his court fell to their knees. Elessar descended the stairs to stand before Sador. He took the scimitar and touched the blade on either of Sador’s shoulders, first the left then the right. “Now rise, Sador son of Tangor of Belfalas.”

Sador rose to his feet and with him rose the others. Elessar gave him back the scimitar and Sador slid it into its sheath.

“I appoint you my chief ambassador to Harad,” Elessar said. “Your duties will begin officially in the spring upon your return from your homeland. Until you depart, you are to acquaint yourself with your brothers in arms and learn as much as you can of the ways of the Court.”

Sador bowed. “I accept your appointment and the duties you place upon my shoulders.”

“Then turn and greet your brothers in arms,” said Elessar. Sador turned and saluted his brothers, who returned the gesture.

The ceremony now complete, the flanks broke and the babble of the men soon filled the hall. Elessar placed a hand on Sador’s shoulder. “Welcome home, Sador. Once you acquaint yourself with your co-counselors, come to my chamber above,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Sador said and with a deep breath, he stepped forward to greet his brothers in arms.  

Pippin entered the King’s private chamber behind Aragorn and closed the door. He poured some wine into a glass and carried it to his lord. Aragorn accepted it but did not drink until he removed the crown from his head. He handed the crown to Pippin, and rubbed and stretched his neck.

“Heavy, is it?” Pippin asked, even as he struggled to put it back in its place in the wardrobe.

“I could feel my neck being pushed into my chest,” Aragorn admitted as he sat. He then reached for his glass and sipped the wine. “I thank the Valar I must not wear that all the time. A day of that and I’ll have no neck left.”

“But you’re king,” Pippin said. He closed the wardrobe and sat beside his friend. “Couldn’t you just change the custom if that were the case?”

“I am king, but I cannot simply go about changing laws and customs to please myself,” Aragorn said. He sat back in his chair and studied the wine in the sunlight. “The people expect a certain amount of fortitude in their leaders, Pippin.”

“Posh,” Pippin said. “It’s a crown, not a law or custom, and wearing it has nothing to do with fortitude. I doubt the people would care if you wore it all day long or not if you didn’t wish to, no matter what the custom was – if any of them can even remember the customs. None of them were alive a thousand years ago, after all. They’re just happy to have a king again. They don’t care about the crown. What difference does it make to them if you’re wearing it in the privy, for instance? Unless the weight of it causes you to loose balance when you’re trying to stand up and you fall backward, hit your head on the wall and give yourself a concussion on your way to the bottom of the latrine. They would mind that, I’d wager.”

Aragorn choked on his wine. “What?”

“You would never find the crown if that happened. At least, I wouldn’t want to be the one to have to search for it, and who’d want to wear it after that? Best not to wear it at all, if you ask me. You don’t suppose that’s ever actually happened, has it? What do you think it’s like for him?” Pippin asked.

“For who?” Aragorn asked, trying to follow Pippin’s chain of thought, without much success.

“For Ash—Sador,” Pippin clarified. “He’s been gone for seven years, in a strange land, living by their customs and laws. We don’t really know anything about his experiences there, and the only person who can truly understand what he’s been through is now gone. Seven years. I’ve only been away from the Shire for nine months, and it already feels like a dream sometimes. The other day, I couldn’t remember what color my mother’s eyes were, or the path I used to take to get to the dining hall from my room at Great Smials. When I tried to remember the market square in Tuckborough, it took me a half-hour to remember all the shops and where they were located. Imagine what it would be like after seven years? He probably couldn’t tell up from down right now.”

“Which is precisely why I am giving him this time to return to his homeland before beginning his service to me,” Aragorn said. “Do you fear that you will no longer fit into the Shire when you go home?”

“I fear my mother and father more than anything,” Pippin said. “I gave them a fright, leaving that way. I hope the letters we wrote in Rivendell were able to reach them. Do you really think the elves would be able to deliver them for us?”

“Elrond gave his word,” Aragorn said. “His people will ensure they are delivered. Granted, you may arrive in the Shire before your letters do.”

“That’s what Merry figured.” Pippin sighed and looked out the window at the sky, now clear and brilliant blue.

“Perhaps we should call for luncheon,” Aragorn suggested, setting down his wine glass. Food always cheered the hobbits.

Pippin grinned. “I already did,” he said just as a knock sounded on the door. “That must be it.” He hopped to his feet and went to open the door. He found not the kitchen attendant on the other side, but Sador. “Master Sador for Your Lordship,” he announced.

Aragorn sat up and waved for the man to be permitted to enter. Sador stepped inside and bowed. At Aragorn’s gesture, he sat in the chair across from the king as Pippin closed the door and took his post. “You wished for us to speak, Your Lordship,” Sador said.

“I did,” Aragorn said. “We will speak often, in truth, for I am greatly curious about the state of things in Harad.”

“What do you wish to know?” Sador asked.

“To start, you heard Queen Farzana’s description of the slavery system. How does it truly work?”

“Just as she says,” Sador said, his impulse to protect his queen – his former queen – too strong to resist.

Aragorn lifted his eyebrows and waited.

“Our laws are—I mean, Haradrim law in the Faithful Houses were so written to encourage kind treatment of slaves. A slave who is treated justly is unlikely to spy for the Enemy, on the hope that His lies of a better life among His Houses might be true,” Sador said.

Aragorn nodded.

Sador drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Practice of the laws is not always so ideal.”

“How so?”

“I mean no offense,” Sador said rather than answering, “but Your Lordship cannot effect Haradrim law. Your alliance allows you safety in their lands, and for them to be safe in yours, that is all.”

“This I know,” Aragorn replied calmly. “How so are the laws and the execution of those laws different?”

“It is true that knaves who join the military are not enslaved, such as it were, but military service has always been a form of slavery in its own right,” Sador began. “As for commoners learning a trade in order to avoid being enslaved once they reach their majority, that is true also but it is rarely employed. If you were a trader or merchant and had your own children, would you rather they be enslaved to save another’s child from that fate? There is a reason businesses are passed down the family.

“Children usually are kept with their mothers, if not their fathers, at least until the children are weaned. Some masters do foster the children after the parents pass, but by this they mean that they begin the children’s training in their duties early so they may take over for the parents. They become slaves in practice if not in name. Families are allowed to see each other at the festivals, but only then. Correspondence between family members is always in the form of trinkets and small gifts, and there are any number of reasons why these do not always reach the intended recipient. As far as compensation, only the most trusted slaves are allowed to carry money; they wear a special bracelet on their right wrists. They will be allowed money to shop for the household, as well as a few sparse coins a season to purchase whatever little trinkets they can haggle out of the merchants for themselves and the other slaves of their household. Children are educated, but they are taught only the basics, never enough to make them dangerous, or they are taught specialties, such as the queen’s maids and her musicians.”

“What of crimes committed?” asked Aragorn. “Are they truly bound by the same laws as everyone else?”

Sador smirked. “Naturally, just as your people are. But tell me, when was the last time a lord was bound in stocks for public ridicule because he defied a command, or the last time a prince was hung for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family? And even if they should commit a crime worthy of punishment, they can usually afford to pay their way out of it, or barter information to reduce the sentence, or mysteriously vanish in the middle of the night; not all the nomads wandering the deserts do so because their village was attacked by the Enemy. Slaves are not so fortunate, and they cannot run because of their brands.

“It is not a perfect system, but it is far better than the one held in place by the Houses of the Eye.”

“There is no consideration to freeing the slaves,” Aragorn stated.

“Free them to what?” Sador asked. “Poverty? Starvation? What purpose would that serve? Do not misunderstand me. The slaves are not happy with their lives, but they are content with it and will not love you for meddling.”

“Surely there is enough wealth in your lands to allow freed slaves to be paid. Razeena was freed. She cannot be the only one,” Aragorn countered.

“Razeena is married. Her husband provides for her needs,” Sador said. “She still works in the palace, doing the same work she has always done. Her compensation for this is adequate, because she is married. Alone, she could not survive. The wealthy could afford to free their slaves and pay them all. The proprietors could not, if they wish to continue enjoying the lives they have right now, and they would wish it. It is a grand idea, and every now and then someone will bring it to the court, but it is not feasible, My Lord. At least, they are not yet ready for it to be feasible.”

“What is the system like in the Houses of the Eye?” Aragorn asked.

Sador shrugged. “I’ve only heard the rumors, same as everyone else, same as they say here. What we hear in Harad is more detailed, but the same overall.”

“What happens to the masters in the Faithful Houses who do not treat their slaves decently?”

“That all depends on the master, the crime and the slave or slaves involved,” Sador said, with a glance at Pippin.

Aragorn understood. “Peregrin, find out what is taking so long with the food, then find my brothers and tell them I shall be late for supper. This may take some time. Send Valcir to attend me until you return.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Pippin said and departed gratefully. He was no more eager to learn about the vulgarities of Haradrim law than Sador was to disclose them. He nodded to the guards at the door and headed to the buttery. Valcir would be there eating already. Pippin could send up the kitchen attendant, find Valcir and then sit to his own meal before going to the King’s House to report Aragorn’s message to his brothers. Pippin’s stomach grumbled as he reached the Hall of Kings. He hoped there was still meatloaf left.  

Sador returned home late. He was staying still in the house given to the Haradrim but it was empty now of the bustle and laughter that had filled it the last two weeks. It was also dark. He fuddled in the shadows for the striker and lit the lamp that sat by the door. He carried the lamp through the house, his worry growing as he made his way through one empty chamber after another. Finally he went upstairs to the chamber in which the maids had slept and there on the center bed was Jamila.

The maid looked so forlorn that it took all his resolve not to approach her and pull her into his arms. In one stroke, she had lost everything, her home, her family, her standing, her life’s purpose. Whatever joy she had felt upon learning that she would be given to King Éomer with the intent that she would marry Osric had diminished when she was forced to remain behind in the house as everything and everyone she had known and loved walked out the door and away from her forever. She had been crying nearly nonstop since and Sador frowned when he noticed the food tray on the floor, the food untouched.

“Jamila,” he said softly. “You must eat.”

“I do not hunger,” she said, whisper soft.

“You must keep your strength up,” Sador said, stepping into the room. “Sultana Farzana would want it.”

“She gave me away!” Jamila cried and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks were blotched and she held a handkerchief in her hand. She used it now, more out of habit than desire to appear presentable. The maid wore the same dress she had worn last night, and he knew from her unkempt hair that she had not attended to her daily bath.

“I thought you wanted to marry Osric,” Sador said. “You said that you love him.”

“I do, or I think I do. How can I know such a thing as this?” Jamila said, sniffling. She gave a great sigh and looked up at Sador beseechingly. “I had thought he would come with us and that I could remain in the palace, just as Razeena and Soroush. I did not determine I would be made to stay, that I would be made dead, and now I cannot even remain here with you. Osric is from another land and they do not even speak in Westron there.”

“So you would have him lose everything that he knows and loves, as my cousin did?” Sador asked.

“I—No, I would not want that,” Jamila said, looking down at her hands in confusion. “But Soroush is happy there.”

“And you will be happy here. You know many of the Riders already, and they will introduce you to their families. You will have friends in Rohan,” Sador said, inching further into the room. He picked up the tray and frowned at the spoiled food. “You must trust that Farzana would not abandon you into squalor. She is a wise woman and a kind mistress. She saw the truth in your heart, even if you find it difficult to see it yourself now. She knew you would be happy with Osric or she never would have entrusted you to his care.”

“When may I see him?” Jamila asked.

“Soon,” Sador promised. “In a couple of days. The queen felt you should be taught the duties of a wife while you are here. Tomorrow, you’ll come with me to the King’s House and meet with Mistress Porcia. She will teach you how to clean and launder and cook, things you will need to know if you are to be a wife of a soldier. Osric doesn’t have servants.”

Jamila gaped at him. “I must clean? I must cook?” she asked, so astonished that for a moment she forgot to cry.

“You’ll do fine,” Sador assured her. “You’ll learn it all in no time, and once you get to see Osric again, you’ll find that many of your doubts and fears won’t seem so great anymore. In truth, you’ll be surprised just how brave love can make you. That’s why the Great Eye ultimately failed; he thought the only strength was in might of arms and brute force. He never knew how weak he really was.”

Jamila wiped her tears and looked at Sador with bemusement. “You’ve been listening to too many of the Pale Skins’ songs. Love is not so grand.”

“You still have much to learn, young one,” Sador said. “I’m going to the buttery for more food, which you will eat. I’ll be back soon.” He stepped into the hall.

“Ashtir!”

“Yes, Jamila?” Sador came back into the room at once.

“Must I stay here all alone?” she asked. “I have never before slept by myself. I do not think that I can.”

Sador glanced around at the many empty beds, grateful for their presence. “I’ll stay here with you until you fall asleep, how’s that?”

Jamila nodded. “Do not be too long?”

“I won’t. Go downstairs. Light the candles in the dining room and set the table. We’ll eat there. I’ll teach you how to eat with utensils,” Sador said and left. This was going to be a long night.

To be continued…

GF 8/31/09
Published 10/12/09

* - The pledge of fealty and the King’s response are from ROTK, “Minas Tirith”