Oaths, vows, given-words, bindings. What is a true Man without them? They prove us, like yeast in the bread, we rise or fall without them. Shape us, like hard hands chipping stone, revealling the form hidden within. We do not know what we will become when we take them, how they will grow us -or stunt us.
Would he take an oath to Gondor? I told him to consider his response carefully. Was being oathsworn to Gondor a price he would pay to accompany me ? - for I will not risk a thing that is not mine.
That I am still here with him, staring at his back as he looks out over the lake, gives his response. No. My relief is palpable. He will give his life for something ... but no oaths are given. Had he said yes, I would have left him there and then to make his own way. He is sworn to his northern lord, and I would not take a man so fickle to one master, who would take another oath without thought to the one he holds, who would swear without the consent of his lord.
Salt on my lips, when he spoke his answer. The rain on my face as salt as sea spray. Not tears ... I cannot recall the last time I cried. His answer was as much a reply as a statement of how things will be. In his sea-wanderer's eyes the far shore, the rain caught in his hair a moment of stars, his voice a surety stamped in the oldest stone. I bowed my head. What else could I do?
And so ... he passes the test. He is proven a man for it, though I do not know if he knew the test were there. A painful business for both of us. More than I envisaged.
