Dol Amroth: The Lists
 
Nestled between the walls of the citadel's inner bailey to the west and the castle itself to the east runs a fenced in area some two hundred paces long. A pair of gates are set in the fence on the southern end and northern end, broad enough for a pair of armored and mounted knights to ride throug, and a narrow divider splits the area down the middle of the longitudinal axis. The vegetation inside has been scoured away by the pounding of the war-shod hooves of the Knights' steeds, and a small circle to the south of the fence designed for mere foot-combat shows similar signs of wear. Running against the castle wall on both the eastern and western sides of the fenced in lists are plain wooden bleachers, little more than unpainted planks held in place by wrought-iron stands.

In the light of the day, the grounds take on an surreal quality, with the barren ground and the closeness of the stone castle walls.
 

A rustling in the bushes is heard on the lists as the foliage moves aside, allowing a straw-haired young lad to push his head out. After looking the open area over from one end to the other, he whispers something to the bush he is hiding in, and steps on out. The field has cleared mostly, the fancy battle between their Crown Prince here in Dol Amroth and the eastern Guardsman Commander being over. A few remain, however, but they pay no attention to the boy as he pushes his way from the bush and reaches back to help another out. This other is dressed similarly to the lad, yet in clothes that look far to big: the cuffs are rolled up on both sleeves and trouser legs. The figure also wears a rough cap pushed down over the eyes as the figure takes the hand of the larger boy.

As the crowd disappears from the lists, a lanky lad elbows his way into the lists. As he enters the clearing were a glorious duel had just taken place, the man-at-arms, scantly seventeen years of age it seems, stops and looks about. Sensing no on is watching, Arras pulls out his shortsword and begins to mock the battle he just witnessed, playing the part of Lord Elphir, "And you, Captain, one of the more skillful. My tricks are as naught to you.", the boy smiles at his own antics, then carries on with his carefree playing.

Young Dric points to Arras, whispering something with a grin to the well-covered figure, which emits a loud snicker. Raising his head and calling out, the lad cups his hands to his mouth, "Now ye're takin' th' Prince's son's part, eh Arras? Don't ye know the Guard's better? Why, tha' C'mander Ingold, now 'e's somthin'!" Pulling out his own wooden sword, he begins mocking the Man-At-Arms's movement, but mirrioring them casting an occasional wink to the figure nearby who only giggles.

Said figure pulls a short knife from its belt and begins going at it with Dric.

Arras' attempt at replicating the Lord's trickery of droping the sword, than catching it and attacking in one swift movement is fully thwarted by the sudden taunting by the young gamin known as Dric, and known to many. Dropping his sword into the dirt and kicking the sand, Arras turns and points a bony finger, "F it t'sn't me old friend Dric!", he exclaims when he recognizes the boyish figure in a nassle twang, "Can't you see I's busy wit somethin, 'haps you would put your sword arm where your mouth is", he nears the two by the bush and stands with his hands on his hips.

Dric grins up at the older boy, tilting his chin up a bit, "Wha's tha', Arras? Ye wanna make somethin' o' 't? I still tell ye, ye'll ne'er get anywhere in life, believein' as ye do. Princes!" he makes a rather disgusted noise, and turns to his strangely clad companion. "Wha'd ye think, li'l one? Down with Princes, save ol' Lord Bor'mir, and Cap'n Far'mir, 'course." The figure laughs, nearly giggles, and pulls its cap down over its eyes.

Sticking out his chin to both youngsters, he attempts to bow in the Prince's fashion, but instead his display is awkward and boyish. Returning to glare at the other boy, he thunbs at him while looking at Dric, "I say there ol' chap! All that boy does is giggle. Is he the one that takes me place, is that it?".

Dric hops around the bigger and older boy a bit, shifting from one foor to the other, his grin taking a mischevious turn, "Naw. I'm only 'elpin'.. 'im.. stay 'way from 'is officah. Ye can 'elp, if ye'd like. Jus' got t' 'ide 'im some bit."

Arras looks at the other boy dumbfounded and attempts to catch his eye. Suspiciously he asks Dric, "Officah you say? Jes a moment. This boy canna be no bigger than you. Why, he's a youngin, one of your momes I bet", he places his hands on his hips once more and leans back, "Was your name kiddo?", he asks of the boy in hiding.

The heavily garbed figure takes a quick step back, hiding under the shade of the branches before raising his cap... Or, her cap. Bright brown eyes shine up at the taller man-at-arms, and she gives a quick bow, "M'name's Arya... O' the personal Guard o' 'Tenant Malahir, I am." Her argot isn't nearly so pronounced as Dric's, who winces as she gives her name.

Starring blankly at the young girls brown eyes as she speaks, Arras raises one brow in and sneaks a glance at the younger gamin. An almost undescribable smile sweeps across the man-at-arms face, but he blocks it with his hand and forces a few coughs. Arras settles down and begins to play along with the ploy, "Dric, my lad, you sly devil", smiling at the boyish Arya, "It is me pleasure to meet ye laddie. Ya know, I believe I've heard that name, what iz it again, Malamork?", he looks to Dric again.

Dric casts Arras a heavy glare, both for the look he gives to Arya and for mangling Malahir's name. "Malahir," he says without an accental influence, "No' Malamork. Silly Dol Amrothian boy." Placing an arm around the lass's shoulders, which she makes absolutly no move to stop, the boy casts a triumphant smile up at Arras. "An' what're ye doin' wi' yer time? Still mockin' th' nobility, eh?"

Arras' cheerfulness disappears, replaces with an "I knew it" frown. He raises a lone brow once more, a signature statement of the lads, "I 'ave you know Dric, I've been invited to compete in the tournament, I faired well in the apprentice group's single combat and archery competition", shedding his argot by slowing and pronouncing his words more carefully, perhaps to impress someone. Tilting his head he adds, "Yes, I knew I heard that name before, Malahir", taking a great deal of time to pronounce the name correctly, "Who is he again?".

Dric stomps a foot hard on the ground and rolls his eyes in exasperation, "Ye? Competin' in th' tourney? Wha's th' poor world come to!" Whispering something to Arya that makes her giggle again, he fixes a challenging look upon Arras, "'E's the 'Tenant o' th' Silver Ship, now that m' brothah's been promot'd. Ye'd be careful t' watch for 'im... 'e's got one tough personal Guard, I'll tell ye that." Turning a smile on Arya once more, he falls into silence.

Arya, however, just nods as Dric speaks. "Aye, 'e's tough. An' I'll run ye through if ye give 'im insult!"

Waving back a hand at Dric, Arras reminds him matter of factly, "And my father had nothing what so ever to do with me placing into the tourny laddie, so don't you think anything wise. I have you know I met Lady Illiana herself. Aye, and she was all the more beautiful in person that you can ever be able to talk too". Arras remains exasperated that Dric is able to be so close with the girl whose beautiful eyes he fleetingly glimpsed from under the cap. Hurtful that such a wonderful creature, in his eyes, would accuse him, Arras again waves his hands toward the two, "You think me mad to insult an officah? Nah, I say! I'm not like you Dric", bending over at his waist and craning to speak to him softly, "Aye laddie, I've heard of your antics have gotten you in trouble it has..our good friend Lorny tol me tother day you and a tall man all in black were goin at it you were".

Arya folds her arms over her chest, a frown still fixed upon the Man-At-Arms, though it soften somewhat as he looks her in the eyes. However, after a fleeting glance from Dric, she breaks out into a slight smile, more in her bright eyes than her face. Dric, however, just raises his chin a bit, "Yer pa didn' get ye in? I'll b'lieve that when m'brother's granted lands an' a title! Ye've met Lady Illiana? Pshaw!" He waves a hand in a disgusted matter. "I've met t' Lady o' Linhir, ye know. An' tha' tall man on m' tail? Which one, eh? One of 'em's good ol' 'Tenant Malahir... But th' other, now, 'e'd be C'mander Ingold 'imself, from th' Rammas Echor! Ye saw 'ow 'e almost bested yer Prince today!"

Arras settles down next to the two chums, kicking out a clean spot to sit on the dirt as adolescents often do. He looks up at Dric and sweeps back a loose strand of his blond hair, "As certain as I'm the more noble of the two of us, I have not only seen Lady Illiana, but she taught me a thing or two about drawing my bow right", he grins and slaps his knee, "Heck if I know which of those silly guards you were fightin with. Lor said he stormed away mighty angry tho".

Sticking her nose well in the air, Arya gives a sniff, "N'bility! I'm more noble than t' two of you put t'gether!" Yet, giving Dric a wink, she adds, "An' I tell you, there is nothin' at all special 'bout it. Just means more work, m'mama says."

Dric gives a low chuckle, looking triumphantly at Arras, "Then ye've got nothin'. I learned the sword from m'brothah, one o' the best fighters in all o' Gondor! An' if Lor can' watch close 'nuff to tell more 'bout a man tha' jus' bein' tall, I got words for 'im."

Nodding at Dric, the man-at-arms replies, "Aye, that boy needs a lesson or two, for sure. He 'posed to be on watch now. Tech'nally, us lads shant be on the grounds 'course", he shrugs and then looks up to Arya and squints "I heard you right? Ha! If your a noble, then my friend Dric here is a gentleman", he scoffs, but stops suddenly at the sound of an adults voice, "was that over yonder me'lads", honestly mistaking Arya as one of the boys. "Quick, out with ye. Into the bush", and he hurries under the foliage as deft as any 15 year old boy.

Arya begins to protest that, yes, Dric is a gentleman... but the sound of grup voices startles her. And freezes her. Pulling her cap down over her eyes once more, her hair bunched up beneath it so as not to show, she stands there barefooted, eyes widening, yet cannot seem to move.

Dric, on the other hand, is quicker than Arras in ducking under the bush. He whispers urgently to Arya: "Girl! Get down 'ere! Don' jus' stan' there!" Yet the adult voices keep coming closer, and she doesn't move, so much that he moves from his hiding place and standing next to her, speaking to her softly.

Disappearing into the bushes perfectly, the man-at-arms assumes the role of witnessing the events that proceed in front of him. From his vantage point he can only hear the men's voices getting louder. He does see Arya's and Dric's legs however and he whispers to them, "Wasya doin standin out there, get in quick", he hisses just as a man clad in black rounds the corner of the lists and strides into the open field where Arya and Dric stand. Malahir holds his hand out to stop the other man he is with as he espies the two. Tilting his head at the duo, he calls out to them "You there, young boys. The lists are off limits", getting closer till he recognizes Dric, "Oh you", he mutters.

Young Dric fixes Malahir with a stern look. "Off limits, ye say, sah? Meanin', I'm not s'posed t' be 'ere? I don' think so. I tell ye, sah, I run this place." Touching his friend on the shoulder, he points towards the foliage, but Arya just stands there... eyes frozen upon the ground, as he mumbles at her. "Get 'way!" But she listens not, or cannot take action.

Malahir gives the gamin a stern look and shakes his head, "How pompous of /you/ to presume you own the city. But fear not young Dric, I do not have the energy to deal with you, nor do I care to anymore", he looks at the boy standing frozen beside Dric, "and who have you dragged into trouble here Dric, he looks awefully young to be hanging out with the master of Dol Amroth".

The lad's face tightens into a scowl, "Pompous? Me? I tell ye sah, yer the one as is goin' 'bout tellin' people what t' do. Not me. An' I'm not th' oathbreaker, either. This's m' friend. 'E's got no pr'blems wi' officahs, no sah. 'E's a good 'un, really. I'm givin' some lessons on th' way o' the streets, I am." And Arya, standing is she is and rather under the scrutiny of one who knows her but does not recognise her, begins to shake a little bit.

Malahir looks over the boy and brings his brows together, "Then why is he shaking like a leaf? What's a matter boy. Has Dric told you lies about me? I'm not nearly as bad as he claims I am", he looks at Dric incrediously, "Dric, a word with you please. I'm actually kind of glad I've run across you. Though it seems you still have that rebelous tone with me. I would like to have a talk with you, man to man".

As though unable to stand it any longer, Arya yanks off the cap and tosses it down, to a look of dismay across Dric's features. Her eyes are slightly red, the beginning of tears, and she wraps her arms around the Lieutenant's knees. "Don' blame 'im, 'Tenant, sah... sir!" she tries to break out of the argot, while also trying to hold back sobs, "'Twas my idea, I swear, it was! Don' get mad at Dric!"

Dric, meanwhile, heaves a heavy sigh and shakes his head, looking up at Malahir with a very grim, rather bleak expression, "I'm willin' t' talk wi' ye, sah. Iff'n ye want."

A sigh can be heard and a slight rustle from under the bush, but with all the sobbering, the tall man doesn't hear it. Instead, his attention is on his poor daughter, who he caresses the back of her head. "It's ok Arry. I'm not mad at him my dear. I promise I won't get mad like I did yesterday", and he bends down to wipe her tears, "I was a big dolt to get you upset. That's why I would like to talk to Dric, I'm going to say I'm sorry to him", he looks briefly up from Arya and at Dric, showing a face of scorn only to him. Then he asks his daughter, "Arya, I'd like to have a word with Dric alone though. Run along, and I'll catch up with you, alright?".

The young lass nods, her tears drying as Malahir says he only wishes to apoligise to the lad. With a few final sniffles, she casts Dric a smiling look, and runs off down the lists... to disapear to one side after a few moments. A rustle, very faint, can almost be heard as she comes to settle beside another lad in the bushes.

Dric's face grows bleaker than before as the Lieutenant gives him such a scornful glance, yet he puts on a strong, solid, almost rebelious face as Arya looks at him, giving her a wink and a grin as she hops off. Scuffing at the dirt with a boot toe, he tries to put a repentant face over his own, but fails halfway. "Whatcha want wi' me, 'Tenant?"

Taken by complete surprise, Arras almost jumps out of the bushes, settled only by the calm look of Arya's eyes. Almost in a trance he settle down and joins the little girl in witnessing the conversation.

Meanwhile, Malahir watches the daughter he has grown to accept in his life run from him and remains kneeling till she is out of sight. Rising up to his feet, a creek in his joints breaking the silence between the two men. He walks up to him, starring him down, "Dric, we have something to settle you and I, ever since you've left Minas Tirith. And now, you mean to steal her away too? Kill me once, and I forgave you. Now you wish to kill me again?".

The lad continues to stare at his boots, his eyes upon the ground seem to be searching for something. "I killed ye, 'Tenant? Did I? When? Ye seemed live 'nuff t' me las' time I saw ye." His words are half-hearted, however, and he heaves a light sigh, finally raising his sky-blue eyes to meet the officer's gaze. "'Tenant, ye know, an' I know, why I left th' Guard. I gave ye m'oath tha' I'd do what e'er ye asked o' me, long as ye didn' turn me in t' m' brothah. Back in 'Sgiliath, if ye 'member. When ye got me m'boots." He takes a deep breath and continues on. "I know ye don' 'prove o' m' way o' s'portin' m'self, sah, but tha's m' own buisness. Now! Tell me, sah, wha' was 't ye wanted to talk t' me 'bout?"

Malahir shakes his head, shruging his meaty shoulders forward, "I guess you'll never understand. I don't assume you know how much I worry for Arya. How much I wish the very best for her?", he lifts his hand and clenches them, "Dric, you have shown me nothing to believe you will give her what she deserves. She's young yet, but I can see she see's something in you. She obviously idolizes you. Don't you see the position this puts me in?", he agonizes over every thought as he tries to explain them to Dric.

The lad's face remains almost blank. "No, sah, I guess I won'. She's a nice girl, an' I... rather like 'er, ye know. I worry 'bout 'er, runnin' 'bout on th' streets by 'erself. So I took 'er under wing. Ye can' blame me for tha', 'Tenant." Dric pauses, once more studying his boots, as if they are suddenly very interesting. "Sah, I don' know wha' ye see in tha' girl. But I do see yer no' 'appy 't all wi' me. Why's tha', sah? Ye bit int' me 'fore I ever met 'er. Why? Tell me, sah, an' tell me now!" He all but demands it.

Malahir glares at the boy long and hard, neither blinking nor breathing hard enough to register a sign he is alive. He lowers his head, and drops his eyes to the ground, coincidently looking at the old guards boots, "Dric, you've grown up. I realize that. You've taken on responsibilities I never thought you could handle on your own. And your pride, is mine. But I fear you remain as reckless and irresponsible as you were when you broke the oath to your brother. I've witness you steal Dric. I cannot have my daughter be influenced by you. I will not tolerate it".

Dric's brown knit together, and his eyes narrow in anger. "I broke no oath!" he snarls, shoulder shaking. "I swore no oath to m' brothah. I swore no oath t' the Guard. I 'ad no oath t' break. Un'erstan' tha', 'Tenant. Th' only oath I've sworn is t' m' boys. And t' ye. Bu' ye broke your side, so I'm free from tha' one. No, sah, I am no oathbraker. Call me a thief, call me a street rat if ye wish. But I am no oathbreaker." The anger fades slightly, but his eyes are bright with the spark that has been lit by mention of oaths. "Sah... 'Tenant... Malahir." He shakes his head once more, eyes upon his boots, yet not speaking.

Malahir nods and puts up his arms to stop the ranting, "Fine Dric, I'm sorry. I'm not going to bring the oath up again. But answer me this? Why do you insist on taking my daughter away from me? Do you have no heart in you?", looking for answers in the boys eyes, not the words that follow.

Dric stops cold, his hands falling to his side and his eyes once more returning to Malahir's face. "I don'. I'd no plans t' take ye're daughter from ye. An' I've got no plans o' 't now. I jus' don' wan' 'er runnin' 'bout the streets all 'lone. 'Tis a dangerous place, if ye don' know 't. I was jus' tryin' t' 'elp 'er out, while ye were dion' your 'fficial things." He heaves a sigh, shaking his head, "An' I though 'twas somthin' I'd done t' get ye mad at me."

Malahir sighs, bringing forth his hand and placing it on Dric's shoulder, "I see your point young man. I'm sorry I thought you would wrong her. I'm glad she has a protector in the city. I want you to know that I'm trusting her with you, because as nimble as she is, I'm not able to watch he all the time. I would love too, but my duty takes me away from her", he shakes his head at this point and stops talking. "Dric, would you take another oath for me then?".

The young lad purses his lips, "Should I, 'Tenant? I would, iff'n ye were th' same man I knew in Minas Tirith. Bu' now? 'Ow d' I know ye won' go breakin' your part this time?" His eyes are hard, and his face bears something of an injured look. "Wha'd ye 'ave me swear, 'Tenant Malahir?"

Malahir gulps and knows the arguement has been turned against him, but he remains stoic, "You know I will keep my promise, because my little girl is involved. Do you really think I would sell out on her?", taking his hand off the boy's shoulder and placing it over his heart, "I swear on this oath, that I will treat you as an equal, if you treat Arya with respect and keep her safe while we stay in Dol Amroth. I'ld also like to add, that you could see her, afterwards. Also, consider coming back with us, just talk with you brother Dric. Like we have, man to man".

Dric shakes his head tightly, "I can' come back wi' ye, 'Tenant. Ye don' unnerstan'... As ye say I don' wi' li'l Arya, ye don' wi' Din. 'E's too stubborn, too much like Paw. No." Yet the lad does drop to one knee, face solemn, he draws his sword from his back and lays it on the ground. Fingers of his left hand brushing the wooden blade, his right hand in the air, he speaks slowly, and with very little of his peculiar street-boy argot. "I give ye m' most solemn oath, 'pon m' very life an' honor, tha' li'l Arya'll be in no danger whilst around me. I will keep 'er from 'arm, an' will treat 'er wi' th' repsect I'd give th' 'ighest born lady. Yet!" he pauses a moment, making sure his eyes meet Malahir's, "Should ye break your side, t' treat me equal-like an' 'llow me t' see li'l Arya when I so wish, I'll visit your 'ouse wi' me boys an' leave ye w'out a copper." Sky blue eyes burning brightly, now, he finishes off, "An' should I break m' side, may I no' live anther full day. This do I swear, Dric, son o' Andaric."

Malahir kneels down and midswhile pulls out his sword, a metalic ring echoeing through the lists. The proud man places the tip of his sword in the loose dirt, one hand on the pommel of the sword and the other on his heart, "I swear to you master Dric, on my word as a loving father, a servant of the Steward, a noble of the house Rovacil, and as your friend, that as long as you fulfill your oath, I will respect you as my equal and never attempt to seperate Arya away from you again", and with all the love his amiable brown eyes could show, he does to Dric.

The lad nods solemnly, picking up and sheathing his sword. A slight smile touches on his face, and he puts his filthy hand up to his mouth and spits on it. "I swore t' ye, now ye've got t' 'cept it." Holding out the hand - which looks quite brownish grey from the general dirt of the streets - he waits patiently for Malahir shake.

Malahir looks down at the lads disgustingly dirty hands, with contempt at first, but finally resigns and likewise spits (tho rather gentlemenly like) on his own right hand. Tentatively offering his moist hand to Dric's he smiles, "Not exactly my way of sealing an oath, but I honor it with all my heart sir".

With a wide smile, Dric clasps Malahir's hand and gives it a hard shake. Wiping his own now wet and dirty hand upon his just as filthy trouser leg, the lad gives a rather courtly bow. "An' ye've m' word I'll honor mine." Turning to the bush nearby, he whistles suddenly... once... twice...... three times, with different notes, like a drummer beating a drum.

Arya then jumps from the bush at the secret call, grinning wide as the Cheshire Cat, and gives first Dric then Malahir a big hug. "Finally! Silly boys, taking so long to just agree to get along!"

Malahir makes a face as he looks at his grimy hand, and doesn't seem to know where to wipe it off. Thinking that the ground is slightly cleaner, he drags it across a little tuft of grass. Afterwhich, he is nearly plowed over by an energetic little girl. Returning the hug gratefully, Malahir holds on perhaps a bit longer than the normal hug, but then lets go and rises to his feet. "We certainly did Arry, I told you I promised to see it your way. There's nothing more to worry about right you two?". Just then another exits the bush, a scrawny man-at-arms, who whistles low, and shakes his head, "Making an oath with the likes of him are you...it's your life, not mine", he shrugs light heartedly.

Arya's smile doesn't fade a bit, and she doesn't move an inch from the Lieutenant's side, even when he lets go of the hug. Dric, however, casts Arras a disaproving glance. "Th' 'Tenant's a good man, Arras... I've tol' ye a' 'undered times o'er. Oh!" Grinning sheepishly as if remembering his manners, the lad turns to Malahir, "'Tenant Malahir, this 'ere's m' friend Arras. 'E's a Man-At-Arms 'ere in Dol Amroth. No' one o' m' boys. An honest, upright fellow, 'e is. Arras, this 's 'Tenant Malahir."

If a look could kill, the fleeting look Arras gives Dric before he turns to greet Malahir, would surely kill Dric on the spot. But he shirks off his troubles easily and puts on a cheery smile and shakes Malahir's hand. "Aye, if it tis'n't the Lieutenant Mala..hir, Malahir I've been hearing all about. A nobleman indeed, such a fine manner of dress, it could be no doubt", Arras catches himself starring at the suit of armor and cape Malahir dons. Malahir, smiling inwardly shakes the lads hand, "You will make a fine noble yourself young Arras. Such a fine manner of flattery, will serve you well", he winks over to Dric.

The young lad hides his laughter at Arras's flattery behind a loud fit of coughing, "Aye.." he coughs, "well indeed." Another cough. "Flattery'll get ye anywhere." A final cough before clearing his throat and returning Malahir's wink. "I tell ye, 't will." Yet, with a glance to the darkening sky, Dric frowns. "'S gettin' late... An' aren't ye s'posed to be on the watch right now, Arras? What'd it look like of a Guardsman o' Minas Tirith gets t' see ye in Dol Amroth allus bein' tardy, eh?"

Arya laughs, a sound rather like the tinkling of bells... when tied to a neighing horse. She then coughs as well, her voice clearing as she looks up at Malahir, "Isn't there a feast being held tonight, 'Tenant?"

The shrill of the lark and an occational hoot of an owl signals the passage of daylight to dusk...soon it will be nightfall. The Lieutenant nods to all, "Dric is right, we all have our duties to perform", looking espicially at Dric, "don't we Dric". He smiles and looks down at Arya, "Indeed, the Prince is holding a feast for the forthnights competators. And it just so happens that a guest and family is permited to join each competitor. Dric, Arya, would you like to join me in dining tonight?".

Arras stabs his hands by his sides and is about to walk away when he suddenly turns on the group, "'tenent Mala'ir, I particapated in the apprentice archery competition, would I be invited too?". Malahir returns the question with a welcome smile and a wave toward the palace, "Let's go, you too Arras, we shant be late, or we'll miss out on all the speeches", he chuckles and grabs Arya's hand.

The young Dric casts a triumphant smile up in Arras's direction and takes Arya's other hand, helping Malahir lead her towards the citadel and the feast therein.