Xandilif the Banshee sat very still, practically motionless, even trying not to breathe. She was poised unsteadily on a chair which looked to have been old when Isildur first called the City Minas Tirith. Near to her left side, a liveried servant was offering her various wines, calling each one by variety and providence and vintage in a flat Minas Tirith accent but the elf wasn’t listening to him in the slightest. He knew it of course, but continued at any rate..protocol demanded it. “Elbereth’s knickers…” the Champion muttered to herself, “If Babygirl could see me now she would laugh her damn hat off…”
When she was admitted into the lounge of the Tide of Destiny, taking up the entirety of an upper floor of the Hall of Merethrond in the Citadel, Xandilif knew the rules. Keep your voice down, play nice, leave all arms larger than a dagger with the Concierge at the door…and follow the protocols of the Minas Tirith elite down to the letter.
The Tide of Destiny had been the Company of choice for the noble houses of Minas Tirith for generations. It was said that it had been founded by Prince Ornaher himself during the Great Alliance but no one knew if that was fact or just a pleasing fable in these days of fatalistic patriotism. Either way, the sons and daughters of the great houses knew they were truly top tier when the herald arrived to announce their invitation to join the Tide. Unlike the other Companies, there was no way to apply to join the Tide…you had to be invited, and then your acceptance was taken as a given. The only time in recent memory such an invitation was refused had been the talk of Minas Tirith for the better part of that Spring season, and personally offensive to some very dangerous people.
So now here sat Xandilif the Banshee, on a chair that could be sold to outfit an entire squad of guardsmen in the City below and then pay them for a year or more, trying not to strangle the popinjay droning on about the fecking beverage list. She had left SilverWand at the doorway some thirty minutes ago, and already her head was beginning to ache…and that “not strangling” thing was getting harder and harder.
At last, a girl of no more then ten years stepped in, wearing the sea blue and gold livery of the Tide and the elleth sighed in relief. The child paused for effect, and then sang in a beautiful, airy soprano, “Behold, she comes, bear witness, worthies, bear witness…The Lady Larol, House Palanial, Countess of Brannor, Blood Royal, Captain and First Sword of the Tide of Destiny, Keeper of the Diadem of Syrinx and Savior of Arnach…Bear witness, worthies, bear witness.”
Xandilif rose as a figure in armor as delicate and golden as any seen in Lothlorien walked in behind the child herald. A blue cloak of damask silk wrapped around her like a gown and she seemed as if she was dancing even as she just crossed the room. Her hair was the same shade of gold as the armor, as was the paint on her eyelids and lips so she seemed as if she were a gilded idol made flesh.
The woman smiled broadly and gracefully bowed before Xandilif, who bowed in response, surprisingly well considering who she was. “Ahhh…I had hoped you would call upon me, Champion of the Azure Faithful, Xandilif Warchild, Prodigal Daughter of fair Imladris and Maiden of Madness. Welcome to our humble barracks. I grieve that I have not beheld you since we both stood on the Plains of Randarial in the smoke of flaming battlements.”
The elleth smirked and raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, Countess, you took a fecking swing at me on that occasion…”
Larol smiled even more graciously. “You must admit, I was sorely provoked, was I not? However, it is but a trifle now and does not bear even thinking upon. When I had heard you had returned to the White City, Warchild, I hoped beyond hope you would see fit to call upon us, and tell me every little detail of your adventures since last we stood side by side in the shadow of menace.”
Xanderian rolled her eyes. “Shall I save time and tell you the only details you fecking care about, Larol? Yes, the Hounds lost a prisoner, yes I am taking it personal, and yes there are signs of betrayal and treason about the affair that may go as high as the Office of Deployment being compromised. Any questions, ya overdressed harpy?”
Larol sat slowly on a golden stool her herald had been carrying behind her. “Questions…I have many, and yet none at all. To think that Steelheart should fail the Steward so grievously and some poor fugitive paid the price for it. What says his Grace about the matter? Is he wroth? I am sure he must be…”
“First of all, I will be sure ta ask Denathor how he feels when he has me over for tea and sponge cake later today. Until then I don’t know ogre squat about what he thinks” Larol laughed brightly and made a gesture with her hands as if it was all just too, too enchanting to think of meeting Xandilif over tea with the Steward.
The elleth continued. “As for Gareth Steelheart, he didn’t fail nobody, his tactics were solid..he was betrayed and up against dark magic he didn’t know to expect. I know you’ve got a badger up yer backside over The Hounds and Gareth for what you think is good reason but you won’t be able to flog this into a way to gain a step on them…unless you find out WHO is the traitor in the City at which point I’ll bear your fecking children.”
The Captains eyes narrowed, as some of her smile seemed to grow brittle. “As the City has no lack of traitors these days, finding one is no challenge at all, therefore you will please name our son after my esteemed Grandfather, Ilharol, Count of Brannor, Blood Royal.”
Xandilif snorted. “No, THIS specific traitor…but Kraddock told me the Withered Tree was making a noise. Again. Cowardly fecking Dwarf diddlers.”
Larol sighed dramatically in agreement and held out one hand. The servant with the winelist effortlessly placed a goblet in her grip. She sipped demurely and nodded her acceptance as the servant seemed to fade away. “The temporary Captain of the Vanguard spoke truth…Ever are we faced with sore trials, from without and within, yet the Tide of Destiny shall cleanse this fair City, if the City wills it or no.”
Xanderian took the woman’s wineglass, drained it, and handed it back to her. “Cleansed maybe but stinkin’ of fish afterwards. Pretty low tide if ya ask me...and by the way, I wouldn't even name my fecking kobold a poncy thing like Ilharol.”
The Captain’s dazzling smile returned. “Sweet Warchild, are you determined to provoke me to strike you again?”
“TRY to strike me, ya mean…but it was a good attempt, I will give ya that Dolly.” Lif smiled mockingly but kept well back from the woman.
“You KNOW I despise it when you call me that, Banshee…yet you insist upon it anyway?” Larol rose…and the girl took her stool away silently.
Xandilif knew she had finally found the nerve for the day and was not going to let go of it yet. “What’s the matter Dolly, don’t like it when I call ya Dolly? What’s the matter Dolly, don’t ya know why it suits ya, Dolly? Don’t ya remember why I call ya Dolly, Dolly? Want me ta remind ya? I could draw a picture...”
“ENOUGH!!!” Larol’s sudden shout was nearly enough to knock her herald backwards. “How does my cousin Lothiriel tolerate your vile sniggering, your crude outbursts..and that SMIRK! To think that one of the First Born should be more rude and coarse than the lowest groundling of the Worker’s Tier!”
“Your cousin three times removed on the distaff side, ya mean….Blood Royal maybe but thinner than this Wyrm-piss ya call wine.” Xandilif stood her ground, and smirked wider. “Anyway, I found out what I come to learn…you are just as clueless as the rest of us about this. I figured you might have the cash and the grudge against Gareth to manage a trick that dirty…but like you said, it cost a life. I don’t give a bucket of orc snacks what goes on between you and Steelheart, but if you HAD been behind this I would have throttled yer pretty golden neck right proper in poor payment for that life.”
Xandilif spat, and if Larol had a sword she would have drawn it in sheer rage. “BEGONE…I knew it was a mistake to admit you at a civilized hour! You, who watched the Argent Lions die to a man around you! Little wonder even your own kind have no use for you, they spit at your heels and call you Kinslayer Spawn…no House to call your own, no Company, no name worth bearing save Warchild…no family, just yourself and your insufferable sister like pitiful orphans before the storm!”
The Elleth struggled to remain focused. She knew this long away from the blade SilverWand was taking its toll, and she felt an ache deep inside. She turned and strode to the stairs down to the gateway, only turning when she could rest one hand seemingly nonchalantly on the archway and lean there. “You’re out of date, Dolly…Rian and me, we got a family now..and that family is gonna find out who did Hawke to death and take bloody fecking vengeance, no matter who or what we gotta bring down to do it.”
As she grasped the hilt of SilverWand, held in velvet gloved hands by the Concierge, Xandilif could hear the Captain smashing glassware in the audience chamber of the Tide of Destiny above. Stepping through the stone doorway she nearly laughed as she felt the headache depart and strength flow into her limbs again. No doubt the servants would spread that little dust up word for word around the rest of the Companies…which was exactly why she started it.
“Well, now I am pretty sure who ISN’T behind all this…time to start finding who IS.” She had nosed around and made more than enough noise so that who ever had a reason to keep all this secret would have caught wind of her interest…and the next move was theirs.
Striding towards the ramp leading down out of the Citadel, Xandilif started back to the lounge of the Hounds of Anarion. Time to compare notes with Gareth...and brace for whatever came next.
