The air stifled around Lance. That is all he could think of, the stifling air. It suffocated him as if the heat of the room reached out its long tendril fingers and wrapped them around his throat. A wretched beast of anxiety driven heat now filled all the empty crevices and open spaces of the massive halls. When Lance first entered the theatres, he felt taken aback by the open and majestic glory of the vast architecture. The silky blue fabrics stretched up the walls reminding him somewhat of the soft movements of the sea on a calm day. But what really caught his attention when he had first walked in was the multitude of seating. Bench after bench, row after row. Now the dull roar of the room marked testament to this quantity of seatings. For some reason Lance could not force his eyes into focusing. Everything seemed blurry to him as if a layer of water settled over his eyes masking a hazy view of the room. Assuring his hands were drawn behind his back, Lance stood as tall as he could in his spot as he silently listened to the room. He tried to listen to the room.
''It is to our great sorrow that the Captain of the White Tower, Boromir, cannot be here to present Lieutenant Eglanion with his well-deserved promotion,” the voice smashed through the layer hazing Lance’s view as everything came into crystal clear focus. Lance blinked his eyes for a moment and directed his gaze up to the stage beside him. It was much taller than him making it difficult to see the source of the voice, but he had heard it before and was able to vaguely recgonise it. “But let us all be grateful for his service, undertaking a journey of unknown distance to an unknown fate, and I am honored to serve in his stead. The former High Captain Aedren, Steward Denethor, and I all are in agreement that Eglanion is best suited for the great task of serving as High Captain. He has proven himself again and again, rising purely on merit, and so this honor is all the more deserved. Lieutenant, please come forward.”
That was the cue. Lance’s leg twitched into the beginnings of steps as the warmth of a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Before pushing forward all his momentum, Lance paused briefly to look over his shoulder. The familiar face of Landrem came into Lance’s view. Although, the one unfamiliar aspect that Lance had notice the day before was the absence of Landrem’s horrid mustache. Lance never said anything about it, but he was glad the man had rid of such a hindrance on his visage. Landrem actually had an attractive face, but the mustache kept Lance from ever noticing. A small smile crossed Landrem’s face as Lance felt a hint of warmth flow through him from the silent indication of support.
Offering the man a half smile back, Lance turned to face the stage once again. Air sucked in through his nose as he felt it swell in his chest. As he ascended the stairs, the breath escaped him as he felt a brief feeling of calming solace from its escape. The stage felt hotter than where he stood before. Everyone’s eyes were on him and Lance could feel it burning through his clothes. It was so hot. Stopping in the center stage beside the announcer, Thalaven, Lance faced the crowd head on. Yet he could not actually see the people. They all were so blurry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lance could see Thalaven unroll a parchment. The man’s voice rang in Lance’s ears, “The Steward of Gondor and Lord of Minas Tirith, acting upon the recommendation of the High Captain of the Citadel Guard and previous High Captain of the Garrison, hereby places special trust and confidence in the loyalty, honor, and service of High Lieutenant Eglanion, son of Erthor, and in recognition of these qualities and his evident potential for higher leadership, he is hereby promoted to the position of High Captain of the Garrison of Minas Tirith, by order of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor until the rightful King returns.” A pause broke the volume of the man’s voice as the lingering ringing echoed through Lance’s head. He felt the man’s eyes turn to him. "Kneel, Eglanion."
Carefully, Lance lowered his weight down until he felt the hard surface of the wooden stage press against his knee. As his eyes lowered down to the ground, he felt a wave of cool air wash over him as if he did not stand in front of a crowd. It felt as if the entire room melted away leaving nothing but a cool breeze of fresh air just for a moment until the next set of instructions rung into Lance’s ears once more, “Reaffirm your oath to the Steward and to Gondor.”
And so it came. Lance wished he could avoid this portion, but alas he knew it was inevitable. Tensing his chest, Lance forced the strength to swell inside of him as he began to speak in an automated voice, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm to speak and 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 captain release me, or my death take me, or the world end. So say I, Eglanion son of Erthor of Belfalas. I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."
The words burned as the clawed their way out of his throat to echo across the room. Lance’s voice was loud and clear as he had trained it to be. But inside he felt the waves of his inner sea begin to crash violently in their emotional turmoil. Inside, he knew he broke each word as they escaped his mouth. The waves swirled harsher with each heartbeat that reverberated in Lance’s ears. It began to swell much like an infected wound and burned more as it painfully tensed. In that split moment he wanted to burst the swelling and release the sea. Just for a moment… But no, he could not let his mind go there. They would never find out his secret. As long as he continued to distance himself he would be safe. He had to distance himself from everyone, including Bregdys…
“And this do I hear, Thalaven, son of Thandor, Captain of the Citadel Guard, instead of Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance.” Thalaven’s voice broke through Lance’s thoughts. This was not the time to think of Bregdys. That hurt too much and Lance needed to focus on the scene at hand. “Rise, Captain, and receive the articles of your office.'”
Applying pressure to his legs, Lance rises to his feet. He felt a wave of nausea as the heat returned. ‘Ignore it Lance. Conceal it. It will be done soon,” Lance heard his voice whisper into his head.
Lance faced Thalaven as Lheinel and Landrem now walked on the stage. Lheinel offered the man the Captain’s shield and collar as Landrem offered the Captain’s helm. Lheinel’s presence irked Lance, but he pushed that down too. He needed her thus meaning he had to learn to tolerate her. As difficult as it was due to what she did to Bregdys, Lance couldn’t let that cloud his mind. He needed to stay focus for both the ceremony and for the future.
Thalaven took first the collar from where it lays upon the shield in Lheinel's hands, and approached Eglanion with his hands outstretched. Laying it over Lance’s head and onto his shoulders, Lance felt its shift in weight. Perhaps it was the eyes tearing into Lance, but the collar felt unusually heavy. Then came the helm that Thalaven took from Landrem to rest on Lance’s head. The helm did not help with the heat. Finally the shield. Reaching his hand out, Lance took the shield from Thalaven’s grasp as he felt his arm lower ever so subtly from the shield’s weight. Who thought it was a good idea to make this thing so heavy?
Thalaven stepped away as Lance turned to face the crowd once more. Inclining his head, Lance heard Thalaven’s words sweep across the room, “It is my honor to present to you, Captain Eglanion, son of Erthor, High Captain of the Garrison of Minas Tirith!"
Oh no… that was another cue. Lance had prepared a speech in his mind. Well more a collaboration of ideas he could spew out about honor and valor and the typical mush most nobles spewed out. Yet in the sight of the crowd, Lance’s mind blanked. Knowing that trying to offer words now would only fail and cause him to look weakened by the intimidation he felt before the crowd, Lance remained silent as he held himself with pride. Silence spoke louder than weak words. There was a pause of roar from the crowd that echoed through the vastness of the halls. No one had ever cheered for Lance like this before. The cheering seemed to wash away his nerves and replace it with a numb glow of true pride and not the fake pride he portrayed often. As the crowd cheered, Lheinel and Landrem retreated off the stage followed by Thalaven. Lance only lingered momentarily before doing the same and leaving the stage.
As Lance descended the stairs, he heard the banging pierce through the cheers as Draugond, a man Lance had only met a few days ago, pounded the butt of his spear onto the stage to draw the crowd to a silence. “This concludes today's ceremony. Please join us for a reception in the Splintered Shield, in the Soldier's Tier.”
By the time Draugond dismissed the audience, Lance had already left the theatre.
Later that evening as the festivities began to drown down to a much duller roar, Lance grew weary of his forced socialization. He had never been one of crowds before and even with his newly appointed nobility, he would still not be fond of the social aspects. Ascending up the stairs, Lance stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Bregdys standing outside the door of his chambers. An unusual bundle hid in her grasp.
Staring him over, he felt the pain that ambushed him on stage return. ‘Don’t feel,’ Lance’s voice reminded him to wipe away the gut wrenching pain. Opening his mouth, Lance let his voice come out with a vacant distance to it, "Ms. Bregdys, can I help you?"
Bregdys looked up as their eyes met. He saw the annoyance play on her features. The annoyance seemed to fit her appearance so well, but of course it inevitably faded, . "I bought these for you, before--" she hesitates, "I have no use for them, so I thought I'd give them to you as planned. My room is too small for useless clutter, after all, and yours seems to welcome the mess."
Tensing his jaw, Lance stepped forward and extended his arm out to take the box in his grasp. Of course she gave him a gift. That totally made everything easier. Cautiously, Lance traced his thumb over the seam of the box as if awaiting some cue to begin opening it as he asked, “What is it?"
"You'll see,” Lance heard the wilt in her voice.
Poking his thumb into the seam of the box, he slowly opened it as a wave of sweet smelling flowers blasted into his face. ‘No…’ Prying open the box, the soft lightness of blue flashed in the dim lighting of the barracks. While everything stood dark in a dim lighting, the contents of the box were brilliantly light in contrast. Bregdys had remembered their conversation. Longing to go back to that innocent moment in their relationship, Lance knew he had to put their past friendship behind him. It could never be anything but a friendship and letting it linger as a friendship hurt too much. There were far too many obstacles and most of which Bregdys did not even know existed.
After silence lingered between the two, Lance cleared his throat to allow his voice to come out, "Hydrangeas?" Another wave of pain crashed on the shore inside Lance. Quickly swallowing down the pain, however, Lance replaced his mask into position over his expression. "What an odd gift to offer a soldier."
"Aye, odd indeed,” Bregdys echoed as she gave him a look, “but at the time, they were bought for a friend."
Quickly looking down to the box that he carefully closes, Lance pretends he never noticed her look. Oh how stupid could he have been? He revealed too much of his inner self to her. How could he have been so stupid? Lance knew the dangers of letting people in and over the past month or so he had let her in unknowingly. She knew far too much about him. Is this what normally happens when you fall in love with someone? Lance could not afford that risk of loving someone though. One moment of weakness can cost him his life.
"Must be a pity then to have to give them to me instead," Lance forced his tone to turn cold. It was almost so cold that it became an ice pick pointed to someone he cared dearly for. He knew he had to though. "The sentiment is appreciated though, Ms. Bregdys."
"Do with them what you will, I am sure a soldier has even less of a use for them than I.” Bregdys’ words faded into nothing but a whisper in the back of Lance’s head as he brushed past her, "Please, don't let me get in your way. Goodnight, Captain."
Lance retreated into his room behind Bregdys as he felt a wash of relief as he entered his version of sanctuary. Carefully, he pushed the seam of the box open once a more to expose the brilliance of the hydrangeas. Their soft petals fluffed out in the box as they glimmered in pale blue hues. Lance could not imagine how Bregdys’ afforded the gift. For a moment though, he didn’t notice the warmth that dripped down his cheek. But suddenly his attention snapped off the gift as his hand lifted to his face. His cheek was wet. ‘No Lance, not now,’ his voice whispered into his head. Tossing the box onto the table in his cluttered room, Lance slouched onto the chair. ‘Don’t feel. That’s dangerous. Just work Lance, working is more important than moping.’ As his inner voice instructed, Lance lifted his quill and began work on his first set of paperwork as High Captain.
