[Amanaduial the archer]

Suspended...suspended from the army of Elendil, the army that would mean something, unique, joined with the elves...suspended...

The word rang around again and agauin in Arthain's mind as he left his king's tent. He could barely comprehend; everything was slipping from his grasp...

It took him several seconds to realise it was Dorlas and not his own mind now repeating that dreaded word. His squire sounded as incredulous as he himself did, but his voice was rapidly growing in volume, and was no longer simply one of confusing, asking for some sort of explanation. As Dorlas continued, now shouting, Arthain felt himself growing angry at the boy's tone - how dare he speak to him as if he was a small child who had done something wrong? He felt the anger building inside him, the anger at Elendil, at Melost, at the elves, at Anwanelme...everything, and couldn't help himself. It wasn't fair but his rage began to direct itself towards Dorlas.

As he turned and started to speak to Dorlas, his voice rose in volume until he was practically roaring at his squire, knowing it was wrong but not being able to stop, a boulder rolling down a hill too fast, crushing Dorlas's feelings, unable to slow or halt. The pain on his squire's face was evident, before he too began to shout at his master. He dared to shout at Arthain!

"Are you suggesting I turn my back on you? What sort of squire do you take me for?"

As Dorlas said the words, an image of Thelian fighting against Dorlas's grip to follow Melost sprung into Arthain's mind, and from the way Dorlas suddenly bit off the words it was evident the same thought had struck him.

"If you stay with me, Dorlas, do you know what will happen? Do you? If you follow me-" He stopped suddenly. His voice was still angry, but as he looked at Dorlas, he saw a flicker of uncertainty in the boy's eyes, and realised Dorlas hadn't entirely worked it out. Suddenly the anger in him began to fade away; he could not deliver what would be Dorlas's fate as a punishment. He lowered his voice, taking a deep, shaky breath before he went on, trying to keep his voice even.

"If you follow me, you will be considered a deserter. Dishonoured, your name will be the topic of shame and betrayal to Elendil's army. Is this what you want?" He looked up, straight at Dorlas now, searching the squire's eyes, not wishing to hear the answer, but knowing they both had to have one. "Do you want to be a deserter because of what I have done wrong? A deserter because of the mistakes I have made?"

Dorlas did not immediately speak, and as the pause grew to be deafening in its volume, Arthain's stomach dropped. Depending on the squire's answer, he could lose the one thing he still kept a hold on, the last thing...

"What a grand world it is, when loyalty is scorned by those who most desire it." Dorlas's voice was but a murmur, almost inaudible, and as the meaning of it struck Arthain he looked away to the side, suddenly ashamed. Yet still there was a doubt, a treacherous fear inside Arthain as to what his squire would answer.

I am sworn to loyalty, both to you and Elendil. What am I to do? What am I to say, now that Elendil indirectly wishes me to betray you? I am forced to choose between my master and friend, and my king. I serve both willingly, and still I am forced to choose. But-" Arthain looked up again as Dorlas bit off the last word, and now it was his squire's turn to take a deep breath, pausing for what must have only been a moment but what seemed, to Arthain, like an eternity. When Dorlas went on, his voice was even quieter than before, but held a steady note of determination. "But I do not know Elendil like I know you, Arthain. I do not question Elendil's worth, but I would trust my life to you, Arthain, before I would to him."

The words were like a sudden flood of water and relief over Arthain, and he realised he had been holding his breath. Dorlas noticed though as Arthain let it out, and once again a small spark of anger flickered in his eyes before he looked away, and the older man suddenly felt the shame in at least as great volume as the relief hit him. To think he had doubted his own squire…

“Dorlas, I…” Arthain stopped, knowing he couldn’t make up for this, knowing he couldn’t put into words what he felt. He stepped forward slowly, lessening the distance between them and as he came closer, Dorlas looked up again, their eyes meeting, dark blue against storm grey. “Dorlas…what you have told me, how you have answered, is more than I can ever repay. To have doubted you…to have doubted you I was a fool, a stupid fool who doubts his friends in the hour of danger, the hour in which he needs them most.” He paused, knowing his words could never be adequate. As he proffered a hand, Dorlas took it, and Arthain grasped Dorlas’s firmly. “Thankyou, my squire.”

At his last words, Dorlas let out a breath of his own, and an almost smile flickered across his face which Arthain returned. Then, nodding once more to the boy, the soldier turned towards his own camp, and despite the lightness which Dorlas had allowed him, he felt the weight of his predicament weigh heavily on him once more. What would have been worse, this, or Elendil not punishing him at all, leaving his soul to eat away at itself in the knowledge of the mistakes he had made. But to leave the army…that feeling once more of losing everything almost overwhelmed him, but was stopped as Arthain grasped that one piece of cheer which was worth more to him than all the gold or silver in the world. Dorlas would stand by him.